Ice and Fire, Venom and Valor
by YouAreInAComaWakeUp
Summary: Come closer, take a seat by the fire, and I shall tell you a story. Today's tale will not be of a valiant knight saving a beautiful princess from a ferocious monster, but of a thief, with the help of a golem, saving a monster from something far, far more frightening.
1. Nothing is Sacred

**Chapter 1**

_Nothing is Sacred_

On the edge of a village, bathing in the warm light of summer vespertide, lied a hill claimed by two brothers.

The boys often came to this hilltop when life proved too alienating or frenetic for them to withstand. There, they could roll in the grass, exchange badinage, and simply exist in the childhoods that their lives seemed so keep to steal away from them.

The more baleful of the two brothers lied on his front, his chin resting atop his crossed arms, eyes leering at the endless horizon that stretched out before him. The grass tickled his cheeks in their favonian dance, but he paid it no mind, too lost in his bitter thoughts.

"Roxas…"

The boy lifted his head, his attention stolen by the sound of his normally-beamish companion's voice. He turned his head to look at the boy lying at his side, and he found a pair of blue, hesitant eyes staring back.

"We can't stay out here forever," said his companion, considerably less beamish than usual. "It's getting late."

"Watch me," huffed Roxas, his chin dropping back down onto his arms.

His brother, Sora, shook his head and rolled onto his side. "Why are you so mad at her, anyway?" he asked. "You never told me, and you _always_ tell me."

"It was…" Roxas hid his face in the crook of his arm, hiding the rubrication of his cheeks. "You know… That thing again."

"'That thing?'" quizzed Sora. Roxas didn't need to turn his head to see the confusion on his face; he'd seen it enough by now that he only needed to close his eyes. "Oh, you mean _that_ thing. Roxas—"

"Don't. I know what you're gonna say."

"—it's not that bad!"

Roxas groaned, and this time, he looked up. "Easy for you to say. You already know who you're going to marry, so she doesn't bother you!"

"It's not like Mom can _make_ you get married," said Sora, poking Roxas in the side, unperturbed by the way that Roxas batted at his hand. "And she wouldn't love you any less if you didn't. She just wants you to be happy."

"I _am_ happy," insisted Roxas.

"But if you got _married_…" Sora tried to poke Roxas in the side again, laughing when Roxas caught his hand. "If you got married, you wouldn't ever have to be alone!"

"I won't be alone," said Roxas, releasing Sora's hand and rolling onto his back to look at the darkening sky. "I'll have you and Mom."

"Well, yeah," said Sora, "but it's supposed to be different, isn't it?"

"Who cares?" groaned Roxas. "I don't need anyone else. 'Specially not some lousy girl."

"Hey!" protested Sora, the grass shifting audibly as he sat upright. "Girls aren't lousy! Kairi's not lousy…"

"But they don't go on adventures," said Roxas. "In all the stories, the girls just sit around while the boys get to have swords and fight monsters and stuff, and when they get married at the end, it's just…the end. They don't go on adventures anymore."

"Well…" said Sora. "Maybe you just need to marry a boy instead!"

Roxas turned his head to glare at his brother, nose wrinkling. "That's weird, Sora."

Sora's smile fell. "Nuh-uh! Mom said—"

"Mom's wrong!" Roxas sat up. "Boys don't marry boys! And if you keep talking like that, people are gonna start looking at you like they look at Mom."

Sora pulled his legs to his chest. "Well… How do you think they're gonna look at you when you never get married?"

"Like a hero," said Roxas proudly, tilting his head back to smile at the sky. "'Cause that's what I'm gonna be. People don't look at heroes like that. I'm gonna get knighted, and people are gonna love me."

"Roxas…"

"I'll go all over the world, and I'll fight dragons, and—"

"Roxas!" Sora grabbed his brother's arm and yanked it hard.

Roxas whipped his head around and found that Sora's eyes were wild and wide with terror. "What—"

"Look!" Sora pointed over Roxas' shoulder with a quivering hand.

Slowly, Roxas turned his head. What he saw behind him, miles away, shooting high into the clouds like a monstrous hand clawing for someone's throat, was enough to turn his blood to ice.

"C-Come on…" said Sora, still gripping hard onto Roxas' wrist as he stood. "We're too close. We need to go home."

Roxas, his eyes still glued to the monstrous pillar, nodded weakly. He would have climbed to his feet, but any movement at all seemed insuperable.

He wouldn't stand until Sora had reached under his arms and pulled him up by force.

They returned to their home in silence, knowing that no one, least of all their own mother, would have blamed them for being stunned speechless by what they had seen.

The fire.

All knew of it, yet none knew exactly what it was.

To the more scientifically inclined, it was volcanic activity boiling just beneath the topsoil, roaring into the sky when the pressure grew too great.

Others claimed the fires to be the work of some god or another, thrown into a rage by the sins of humanity.

Still others believed the ground whence the fires came to be the home of the Ankou, the guide of the dead. To them, the fire was a phenomenon that occurred when he traveled to and from his place of residence.

To most, however, the flames were unknown and unquestioned. They were what they were: Pillars of fire pouring into the open sky, seemingly at random.

Regardless of which beliefs any given denizen of Sublustris subscribed to, there was one truth all could agree upon, one rule to follow.

"Stay away at all costs."

The fire was clearly dangerous. Only a fool would approach the flames. Roxas had grown up on these beliefs, on these fairy tales. He'd listened to every rumor, heard every cautionary tale that parents told their children, every story told in warning. He knew, from years of submersion in this culture, that no one dared to get anywhere near the site of the eruptions.

Which was exactly why that was where Roxas was headed.

He shuffled between the trees, treading the forest floor with weak footfalls. His shoulder burned like hot coals, and the earth itself seemed to wobble with every step that he took, but he had to keep walking.

It wasn't that his pursuers were gaining on him. No, that threat had long-since passed. They'd turned around the moment they realized where Roxas had been leading them. It was the fear of something else that pushed him through the pain.

His primary adversary was time.

With every minute that passed, Roxas' stomach sent audible roars up his trunk.

With every second that rolled by, another milliliter of blood soaked into his shirt.

With every degree closer the sun drew to the horizon, the air around Roxas became another degree colder.

It was autumn. There had been a chill to the air for weeks. Roxas hadn't been looking forward to it even when he had a home to return to. Now that he no longer had a fireplace or a warm bed waiting for him, the incoming frost had gone from inconvenience to nightmare.

A throb to Roxas' shoulder yanked him back to the present. He gripped the wound hard, ignoring the way that the spreading scarlet glued his shirt to his hand like so much raw bread dough. He stumbled forward, the whole world spinning around him, and slammed his shoulder into the nearest white oak. A cold breath hissed through his teeth as he slid to the ground.

He couldn't remember a single time at any prior point in his life when the outcome seemed so bleak.

The wound in his shoulder itched as much as it ached, and it was slowly but surely driving him mad with malaise. The musket ball raised his skin beneath Roxas' palm. It hadn't gone deep, and perhaps it would only be a matter of digging his fingers into the wound to pull it out, but Roxas knew better than to try. Right now, it was working as a stopper to stem the blood flow. If he dared to dislodge it, he would only bleed out faster, and then he really would be in trouble.

Roxas turned, supporting his back against the oak and sliding further down until he was seated on the damp earth. He wondered, was this his punishment for turning back, to chance a look at his assailants? Or, if he'd only kept running straight, would it have been a fatal shot? Would it have killed him?

Should it have?

Roxas glared at the crimson color that soaked into his shirt. How much longer could he survive like this? How much blood could someone lose before they fell unconscious? How much longer did he have? Was it worth waiting it out?

Perhaps it would have been a better idea to dig the musket round out of his shoulder after all, to die on his own terms, without that infernal itch.

Roxas released his shoulder and reached for the hole that the musket ball had torn into his shirt to rip it open wider, hissing at the pressure it put on his already throbbing shoulder. Pressing a finger into the wound itself didn't hurt, though. Perhaps he was already going through as much pain as it was possible for one person to feel, or perhaps his skin was getting a head start on dying.

His fingers brushed against something hard that gave in to his prodding too much to be bone just as the scent of smoke assaulted his senses.

Roxas lifted his head, tearing his gaze away from the bullet hole. Did he really smell smoke? His nose was so clogged from the cold that it hardly seemed possible. Where was it coming from? Was it the Fire? Was the Ankou coming to take him away?

On shaking legs, Roxas climbed to his full height, pushing against the oak tree for support.

The way he saw it, he had a fifty-fifty chance. Either he was about to die regardless of whether he rid himself of the musket round, or there was a house nearby. A house with a warm fire and food and a bed. _Heaven above _did a bed sound nice.

And if it did turn out to be the home of the Ankou, well, either Roxas would find Death or Death would find him. Hardly a reason to be cautious.

Through a head foggy with fatigue and malaise, Roxas decided to take the risk. He began to walk, pushing past the flora and leaning against every tree within his reach. He felt so weak already; walking would soon become impossible. He needed to hurry.

Several minutes passed with nary a sign of firelight in the darkening night. Roxas was ready to chalk the scent up to his imagination—after all, how could he have smelled it? He couldn't even breathe through his nose, much less use it for something else—but on the very edge of giving up, he saw it: Warm flame bending through a glass windowpane, its flicker painting the surrounding trees with orange light.

Fresh determination carrying his weary bones, Roxas pushed himself further. The closer he got to the light, the thinner the trees became, and the source of the flame became clear. At least, it _seemed_ to be clear, but Roxas wondered if the ache in his shoulder hadn't driven him completely mad.

In the center of the clearing, casting a shadow over anything that dared to draw too close, stood a castle. Or, rather, what appeared to be one. Upon closer inspection, Roxas realized that it wasn't quite a castle, but a manor, and a lavish one at that. Lavish enough that no one could blame Roxas for making the assumption.

It was an old building, a hundred years at least. Even Roxas, who couldn't tell a flying arch from a buttress, could guess that much. It definitely wasn't like anything he'd grown up with in Sublustris. Still, he wasn't in any fit shape to admire the architecture any time soon.

Roxas dragged his feet to the front entrance, swaying with every weak step through the thick grass. The hand attached to his injured shoulder hovered over the wooden surface of the door for several seconds. Then, Roxas' will to live outweighing any worry about who might be on the other side, he curled his hand into a fist and knocked.

He only managed to knock twice before his weakness got the better of him and he collapsed against the front of the door.

He waited, turning his ear to press against the wood, listening for footsteps. None came.

He pressed his eyes shut. Nothing for it. He would have to try again.

Roxas slapped the palm of his hand against the door, the sound muffled by his own weight against it. "Hey!" he cried out with as much power as he could muster (which, at this point, wasn't very much at all). "Is someone in there?! I need help! I'm hurt!"

Roxas waited.

He waited for a full minute, his ear still pressed against the door.

Nothing. Not even the slightest sign of movement.

Groaning, Roxas pushed himself away from the door and rolled over so that his back was pressed against the wall beside him. Once more, he curled his hand into a fist and swung it back, hitting the door with the side of his palm. The sound had intensified without his body muffling it, but so slight was the increase that Roxas could hardly be sure it was there at all.

"Hey!" shouted Roxas yet again, and again, and again, his voice weakening with each attempt. Whether it was from his dying strength or his dying morale was difficult to tell.

Perhaps no one was home. Perhaps the owners had left the house to hunt. Perhaps they were staying in the village for a few days. Perhaps they were upstairs, too far away from the door to hear Roxas' cries for help.

Perhaps…if Roxas just let himself in, he would be able to explain himself by the warmth of a fire. Maybe the owners would be more inclined to hear him out once he was already inside. After all, wasn't it said that it was better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission?

_Especially in this case, _thought Roxas.

He rolled back onto his uninjured side and tried the doorknob.

It was locked.

Roxas clenched his teeth and turned his head to press his face into the door frame. Again, he slammed his fist against the door, this time out of frustration.

Again, he was faced with a choice.

On one hand, he could stay outside and wait to see whether it would be the cold or the blood loss to ultimately sink him into a painful, eternal sleep; on the other…he could force the door open with the very curse that had gotten him banished from his village in the first place.

Roxas was loath to admit it, but that choice wasn't really a choice at all. With his life on the line, all he could do was opt for the latter.

Once again, he reached for the doorknob. It glinted for the briefest of moments, as if catching light from an unknown source, before fading back to its normal sheen.

This time, when Roxas attempted to turn the doorknob, it twisted effortlessly.

He pulled the door open and stepped over the threshold before closing it behind him.

A shudder rolled down his body. It was warm. For the first time since Roxas had left his house that morning, he had encountered warmth. Warmth that had nothing to do with the blood dripping from his open wound.

He pivoted away from the door to look around the glamorous room he'd walked into. The second he did, however, he found himself frozen in more ways than one. His body turned stiff and immovable, petrified, and any warmth the house had managed to provide him quickly poured out of him like so much water from a basin.

Past the rows of pillars, beyond the red carpet, atop the grand staircase gleamed a pair of intimidating, golden eyes. The face that they were set in wore an expression that reminded Roxas of a time long past. It was the same look his mother used to give her sons when they returned home late from some excursion or another. It wasn't a mask of anger, but impatience for an explanation.

Familiar expressions aside, the man at the top of the stairs looked nothing like Roxas' mother at all.

He was olive-skinned, and his hair shone in a way that Roxas had only ever seen on his brother's closest friend. It wasn't quite gray, like that of the elderly; it was as if molten silver cascaded down from the crown of his head, dripping onto his shoulders. It caught the flame from the candles that decorated the pillars, reflecting the firelight off of its glossy surface and painting his neck with a rufescent glow.

The man's attire was a panoply of silk and precious stones. It wasn't quite regal, but it wasn't a far cry from it by any means. A black waistcoat adorned with ruby buttons wrapped around his lean physique, emphasizing his toned waist. Contrarily, the white sleeves of his silk shirt underneath emphasized the surprising bulk of his arms, blossoming at his wrists like carnations. His black breeches disappeared at the knee into a pair of fine, black boots.

"Good evening," said the man, his smooth, deep voice snapping Roxas out of his dazed staring.

"Uh, hi," said Roxas, and fell silent. He stood paralyzed, clutching at the wound at his shoulder as he tried to formulate an intelligent response. Or, at the very least, an appropriate one."

"I came from outside."

That was not it.

"I mean—" he was quick to amend. "I mean it's cold, and I needed a place to stay, so… I mean, I tried knocking—"

"You seem to be injured," said the man, taking a step down the stairs.

Roxas tightened the grip on his shoulder and nodded mutely.

The man descended like a deity, and when he reached the bottom step, he waved Roxas in the direction of a nearby door. "Come," he said, leading the way.

Roxas, given no choice, followed.

The room, while not quite as luxurious as the great hall, was glamorous nonetheless.

Two elegant, pink chairs sat on the carpet at the center of the room. A fire roared full and strong in the fireplace on the far wall. The fireplace itself was decorated by a coat of arms upon the mantle.

The sound of a creak caught Roxas' ear and he turned his head to see the man kneeling in front of a cabinet in all his finery. When he stood, he made toward the door, a roll of linen strips in hand. He excused himself, allowing Roxas the opportunity to inspect the room without seeming too invasive.

He found it odd that there were no paintings on the walls. He'd expected a manor this fine to have portraits of generations of its inhabitants, or at least a commissioned piece or two. There were, however, sculptures along the sides. Perhaps the manor's landlord simply didn't care for paintings.

Roxas' gaze shifted to a table by the fireplace. He wanted to get a better look at the woodwork, but his shoulder chose that particular moment to throb painfully under his grip. He winced and gripped it tighter, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He hoped that this olive-skinned man would be able to help him. He didn't want to lose his arm, but he didn't want to spend another moment in this crippling pain, either.

It was then that the homeowner returned with a basin of steaming water in his hands.

"Sit," he ordered in his base tones, and Roxas acquiesced to his demand. The man set the basin on top of the small table positioned between the two pink chairs and, without warning, reached for a knife at his belt.

"Whoa!" gasped Roxas, instinctively recoiling. He hadn't had that knife before, had he?

"I presume you want to be healed."

Roxas nodded, already shaking in anticipation of his pain worsening.

"Then you should be prepared to face the methods necessary." He reached for the hole that the bullet had made in Roxas' shirt and used the knife to cut it open.

"H-Hey..." protested Roxas weakly.

"It was beyond saving," said the man, his gaze intent upon the wound. "Worry not; I will provide a clean shirt for you later." He raised a hand and pressed his ice-cold fingers into the flesh surrounding the bullet hole.

Roxas cursed quietly, gripping the arms of his chair. Realizing what he'd done and how unwise it was to do such a thing when he was a guest in a wealthy man's house, he slapped his left hand over his mouth. He swallowed, and he lowered his hand slowly. "S-Sorry."

The man acknowledged neither the curse nor the apology. "The ball is near the surface," was all he said and grabbed his knife again. He reached for a cloth that had been sitting at the bottom of the basin and used it to clean the blade.

Roxas held his breath and closed his eyes. He could guess what was coming.

The pain in his shoulder burned, intensifying as he felt the knife tip penetrate his skin. His foot slammed hard on the rug in place of a scream or a curse. He seethed through his clenched teeth.

"Impressive," said the man. "Your shoulder is completely intact. There isn't even the slightest chip in the bone."

"Nnng!" said Roxas in lieu of a response. Words were beyond his current capability.

The pressure of the knife left Roxas and he dared to open his eyes. The musket ball that had been on his shoulder now rested on the table, the blood covering it reflecting the firelight. Roxas turned his head to look at his shoulder, and he almost threw up. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so much human blood spilled, and knowing that it was his own did little to calm his stomach.

The man who had removed the musket ball had the washcloth in his hands again. He wrung it out over the basin and raised it to Roxas' shoulder.

Roxas had to bite his knuckle to keep himself from screaming. As impossible as it had seemed, the water in his wound hurt worse than the knife. He pressed his eyes shut again, tears of agony squeezing out between his eyelids.

"What is your name?" asked the man cleaning Roxas' wound, his voice calm and quiet.

"Rokshash..!" said the boy, speaking almost incoherently around his knuckle.

"No surname?"

Roxas shook his head. The last thing he needed was for someone to trace him back to Sora. He'd been enough trouble for his brother as it was.

"Very well." By the sound of sloshing water, Roxas could guess that the cloth had returned to the basin. "You may call me Xemnas." More sloshing, most likely to rinse the blood from the cloth. Roxas didn't bother opening his eyes to look; he knew they would soon be forced shut when the man, Xemnas, resumed his cleaning. "Now... Who exactly were you running from?"

Against his better judgment, Roxas' eyes opened wide. He slackened his jaw, allowing his knuckle to fall away. "W-What do you mean?"

"You've been wounded by a man-made weapon," said Xemnas. "It is past sunset, and yet you were wandering the woods. Were this a mere hunting accident, you would have either been armed, or you would have been accompanied. And beyond that, you were very eager to force your way inside. Eager enough, perhaps, to unlock a locked door by matter of force."

Roxas' eyes widened. "I-I wasn't—" His words were cut off by a piercing cry as Xemnas pressed the cloth to his wound yet again.

"I was absolutely certain that I had locked that door," explained the man. "I can think of no profession but thievery that would demand the skill of a lock pick." He pulled the washcloth away from the wound, but Roxas' troubled expression stayed where it was. He had a feeling that this conversation was about to turn very sour.

"Um..." He swallowed. His throat was dry. "Yeah, I mean... I guess you could say that."

"Indeed..." The man wrung out the cloth before continuing to clean Roxas' wound, earning another pained hiss. "And I assume you have no place to stay. Surely you would have gone there instead. You have no family. No one to care for you. Am I correct?"

Roxas jerked his head in a stiff nod.

The damp cloth lowered from his shoulder yet again.

Xemnas held Roxas' gaze with his chilling, honey-colored eyes.

"Will you steal from this house?" he asked.

"No," said Roxas. He wished he could tear his eyes away from Xemnas'. It felt as though his soul was being devoured. "I-I only did it because I had to. I promise."

Xemnas took the knife from the table. Roxas flinched, and felt very silly for doing so once he realized that Xemnas was only using the blade to cut the rest of his shirt off. The man set the shredded shirt aside, along with the knife, and reached for the linens he'd retrieved from the cabinet. With gentle (albeit still rather cold) hands, he began to dress Roxas' wound. This didn't hurt nearly as much as the cleaning had, so Roxas felt he could relax.

"In that case," began Xemnas, his eyes fixed on his own handiwork, "perhaps it is best that you make yourself a home in this manor."

Roxas' heart skipped a beat. A home? In the manor? "You mean I get to stay here? For good?" He searched for a lie in Xemnas' face. "Why would—ow!" Xemnas had tightened the bandages. It hurt almost as much as the cleaning, but only because Roxas hadn't been prepared for the sudden change in pressure.

"You will find that the manor has many spare rooms," explained the olive-skinned man. He tied off the bandage with a firm knot and climbed to his feet. "I am a...private man, and yet even I grow weary of being alone. Perhaps a single guest will not be so much of an inconvenience. I have but one condition."

Xemnas was a tall man. When Roxas stood, the top of his head barely reached his clavicle. "What condition?"

"Under no circumstance are you to enter the first room to the right of the grand staircase," said Xemnas. "That room is my private study, and it is not to be disturbed."

That was all? "Yes, Sir."

"You may choose any room from the west wing." The man turned to leave without bothering to send Roxas even one last glance. "I presume you are not too injured to see to that on your own."

"Oh..." Roxas watched as Xemnas disappeared through the doorway. "Sure..." This stranger was, well, strange. As strange as they came. But... Roxas reached up with his left hand to touch his newly-dressed wound. Xemnas was not unkind. Not by any means. Roxas had broken into his house, and yet he still offered a place to sleep. The man had even seen to his wounds. Roxas owed a great deal to this man, and he would do his best to repay him, starting by following the order to stay away from the study.

But...that didn't mean he wasn't curious.


	2. Empty Space

**Chapter 2**

_Empty Space_

After exploring the four rooms available to him in the west wing, Roxas decided on the smallest one. The smallest it may have been, but that hardly meant that it was tiny. Though it was difficult to tell, as full of furniture as it was, Roxas felt sure that it must have still been bigger than his room in Sublustris.

Xemnas visited the room not long after Roxas had chosen it. He hadn't stayed long, only long enough to give Roxas permission to use whatever he found in the wardrobe. Having been given permission, Roxas languidly opened the beech wood doors and looked inside.

The clothing he found there was just as munificent as the clothing Xemnas had been wearing, all fine silk and cotton. Unlike the clothing Roxas had seen on Xemnas, however, this clothing wasn't really...Xemnas-sized. In fact, it was barely bigger than Roxas himself. Roxas wondered, for just a moment, who the clothing could have belonged to before deciding that it was hardly his business.

_Xemnas was nice enough to let me stay here_, thought Roxas, frowning to himself as he chose a long, loose shirt from the selection. _I shouldn't ask too many questions._

He sat on the edge of the bed-which was softer than he ever thought beds could be-and slid his shoes off. It wasn't until they clattered to the clean floor that Roxas realized exactly how filthy they were. He winced, realizing that he must have been tracking dirt through the house from the moment he walked in. He would have to clean up after himself the following morning.

Having shed his shoes and trousers, Roxas reached for the shirt he'd laid out on top of the bed. He managed to pull it on over his head after a great deal of struggle and, cringing, pushed his injured arm through the right sleeve. Once it had gone through, he sighed in relief, the pain having passed as immediately as it came.

It was miraculous, really, how little Roxas' wound hurt him. It had gone from an insufferable burning to a dull throb in only a few hours' time. Xemnas' administrations had worked wonders. Perhaps he was a doctor before he decided to isolate himself in the woods; that might explain his acquisition the manor if it turned out he wasn't noble. Or perhaps he'd learned to treat a wound in preparation of a possible injury to himself. It wasn't as though he would be able to call for a doctor in the middle of the woods, after all.

Roxas peeled back the warm, heavy quilt and felt the linens underneath. As expected, the sheets on the bed were as soft and fine as every other strip of cloth Roxas had seen since breaking into the manor. He climbed beneath the blankets, his bare feet nestling between the sheets, and he laid back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes, eager to sleep off the dull ache of his wounds.

It was a few hours later that Roxas grudgingly admitted that that wasn't going to happen.

Frustrated, he sat upright in his new bed, glaring at his quilt top. He didn't understand. He wasn't too hot or too cold. Despite the way his stomach had been growling in the forest, he wasn't hungry anymore. He wasn't even shaking or experiencing that odd queasiness that came from going too long without eating. He wasn't thirsty. Heaven knew he was comfortable, and he was exhausted to boot, but for whatever reason, sleep still evaded him.

Roxas turned and dropped his feet to the wooden floor. If sleep wouldn't come to him, he would have to find it on his own, and Roxas knew exactly how he could.

He grabbed a pair of breeches from the wardrobe and slipped them on. After taking a look at the boots resting at the bottom and deciding that they were too small, Roxas decided to go without. Better to be barefoot than to track yet more dirt through the manor.

As Roxas had noticed when he explored the west wing, the hallway outside of his door was barren. As it had been with the den, no paintings adorned the high-reaching walls. There were no shelves, no flowers, no mirrors, not even a window to light his path. At least Roxas could walk through without fear of bumping into anything.

He made his way to the grand staircase without incident and tried the first pair of double doors that he came across.

Locked.

Roxas knew that he could have opened them with minimal effort, but out of respect for Xemnas' privacy, he left them closed.

Continuing in the same direction would have led Roxas to the east wing, which was no doubt where Xemnas slept, so Roxas opted to instead descend the staircase. Upon reaching the plush, red carpet on the ground floor, he turned around. The circumference of the round room yielded a series of identical doors. One, he knew, led to the den, while another led to the study he'd been forbidden from exploring. The rest, however, were all just waiting for him-providing, of course, that they weren't locked as well.

The first room Roxas inspected was a dining hall that looked as though it hadn't been touched in years. Dust covered most surfaces, which Roxas supposed made enough sense; it wasn't likely for someone like Xemnas to spend much time entertaining guests.

Another room led to a lounge. This room was much less dusty, but like with the den and the corridor, its naked walls left Roxas feeling uneasy.

The kitchen, which Roxas found behind another door, looked just as untouched as the dining room. The suggestion that Xemnas didn't eat paled Roxas for half a moment before he realized how possible, even likely, it was that Xemnas cooked over the fireplace. After all, that was what Roxas and Sora did. Of course, that was because they didn't have a big, fancy kitchen, but what was the point in a big, fancy kitchen when there was no one to cook for? Roxas smiled with satisfaction at his own answer as he stepped through the door back into the foyer. "Guess he likes to keep things simple," he mused. He could respect that.

Halfway to the last available room, Roxas halted. His toes curled into the carpet fibers. Goosebumps crawled up his arms. A familiar sense of dread filled his chest. It was a feeling he knew well. Usually, it preceded Sora jumping out from behind something to startle him, but Sora wasn't here, and Xemnas didn't strike Roxas as the type to pull pranks.

Whoever was watching him was someone unknown.

Roxas whipped around, searching the top of the stairs.

Someone in a long, black cloak looked back down at him.

Their hands tightened around the railing, just for a second, before they released it to bolt down the west wing.

"H-Hey!" shouted Roxas. He stormed up the stairs with heavy footsteps, his worries about waking his landlord long since forgotten. His shirt billowed around him as he rounded the corner into the hallway, chasing the stranger down the moonlit corridor. The black silhouette charged at the window, Roxas hot on its heels, but before the boy could get anywhere near close enough to grab the coat's flapping him, the figure vanished. They dropped to the floor with a thud.

Roxas narrowed his eyes in confusion. Did they trip? He walked to where the place where he'd last seen the figure before it disappeared, but it wasn't there.

It hadn't tripped. It had hidden itself in the shadows. Whoever that person was, they weren't in the hallway anymore.

"They've gotta be in one of these rooms," mused Roxas, peering around at the four ajar doors that surrounded him. "Hey!" he tried calling...but to no avail. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, but he still had to try.

Pursing his lips, Roxas walked to the closest door, the one on his left. This room was the biggest of the four. If he had to hide in one of the rooms, that one was the one he was most likely to choose. "Hey!" he called again. Still, no answer. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled the doors open. Nothing there. Just some old coats. Really big coats, too. Way too big for Xemnas. How many people used to live here? Just how long had they been gone?

"You know…" Roxas closed the doors and walked to the bed. "If you're in here, you can come out." He kneeled on the floor and lifted the bed skirt. No one was there, either. At least, no one he could see by squinting into the darkness. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything." Roxas tried to push himself up off the floor, momentarily forgetting about his injury. The stabbing pain in his shoulder was quick to remind him. He gripped it, hissing. Stupid thing.

"I don't think I could hurt you even if I tried." Roxas lowered his hand. No blood. At least the bandage was doing its job. "And I don't want to, anyway. Even if you're a thief or something. I'm not mad. I don't even own anything worth stealing. And the guy who does own this place, he's really nice. If you did steal something, all you'd have to do is give it back. I'm sure it'd be fine if you explained everything. He might even try to help you. I mean, I broke in, and he helped me." Roxas walked to the drapes and pulled them back. No one hidden in the folds. "I'd try to help you, too. I'm not a bad guy. Or at least, I don't try to be. _I _think I'm pretty nice." Roxas walked to the trunk at the foot of the bed. No one there, either. No one in the room at all.

Disheartened, but not defeated, Roxas repeated the same pattern for the remaining three rooms. He announced his presence, tried to make himself seem harmless, and searched any possible hiding places. After finishing up with his own room, the last of the rooms in that hallway, Roxas sighed and flopped backward onto his bed, his arms spread out on either side of himself. Whoever had been watching him was long gone. They must have escaped from one room while he was looking through another.

Groaning in resigned disappointment, Roxas rolled onto his side, only for a sharp sound to yank him immediately back to his feet. His gaze darted around the room, searching for the mysterious cloaked figure...but he didn't find anyone. Honestly, Roxas hadn't expected to. That sound was less of a "someone walked in" sound and more of a "something fell off the bed" sound.

Frowning, Roxas dropped himself to the floor and began to pat it with his hands until they came across something smooth. Smoother than the floor, anyway. Roxas curled his fingers around the strange object and lifted it up to the window, squinting at the silhouette.

"Is this...a seashell?"

* * *

Over the course of his travels, Vexen had seen countless skirmishes. He saw brawls outside of taverns, muggings, even duels, but out of all the times he turned his face away from such quarrels, there was a single instance when he dropped absolutely everything to defend someone.

Anyone watching might have suspected that the reason he stopped was because the victim was a child this time, or perhaps because he himself had been bullied at a young age and wanted to save future generations from suffering the same fate, however, though those two reasons might have had something to do with it, the main reason had little to do with the child himself, but rather what the child was doing.

He didn't fight back. He didn't even try to defend himself from incoming blows. No, instead, the child used his body to shield something else.

How strange it was that the child was being attacked, and all he seemed to care about was the heavy, golden book he clutched in his tiny arms.

And there was something about that that Vexen simply could not overlook.

So he stopped. He turned. He stepped into the shadows…and he threw a snowball.

The child he'd hit turned around, startled. Of course, who wouldn't be? Snow, in the middle of summer, in a country with such a warm climate?

He looked up at Vexen just in time to watch a new snowball coalesce in the center of his palm.

From there, it was just a matter of enduring a few screams before the children were no longer Vexen's problem; they'd all fled before Vexen's snowball was even fully formed.

Shaking his head and their predictable cowardice, Vexen allowed the snow in his hand to fall to the ground, abandoned to melt on the hot cobblestone. Cautiously, he approached the boy who still clutched his book, shaking. He was covered in scratches and red welts that would most likely bruise, but still, his book was more important to him. Vexen admired that.

Cautiously, the man kneeled beside the boy he'd rescued and rested a hand on his shoulder.

The boy's head snapped up, blue eyes wide. Or, at least one of them was. The other Vexen could only assume had widened considering the fact that it was completely veiled by oily locks of slate-colored hair.

"Are you all right?" asked Vexen.

The boy stared.

"Of course," mumbled Vexen. "The language barrier… Sunt tibi bene?"

The boy still stared.

"No? Me comprends-tu cette fois?"

And still, he stared.

Vexen sighed, disappointed. He'd run out of languages. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and offered a hand.

The boy clutched his book closer to his chest, shaking his head.

"Oh, gracious," mumbled Vexen, mostly to himself, knowing that the boy would not be able to understand him. "I wasn't trying to take that from you." He gestured peaceably with both palms open, shook his head, and stepped back.

The child looked up at Vexen, hesitation in his eyes, and then, faster than Vexen could react, he ran.

* * *

After spending all morning looking through every room in the manor, Roxas finally managed to find what he was searching for.

"Xemnas?"

"One moment."

He fidgeted by the library door. After having spent all night tossing and turning, his thoughts consumed by worry, Roxas knew he had to say something. It could have been a thief, and if it was, Xemnas certainly deserved to know.

The library Roxas had found his landlord in was gorgeous, and he found himself staring. The ceiling was high, at least three stories, and books covered almost every inch of the walls all the way up. The only spaces on the walls that weren't occupied by books were otherwise occupied by the fireplace and two tall windows that reached for the ceiling. The library was gorgeous, yes, but its size only served to make Roxas all the more nervous about the news he was about to deliver.

Xemnas had been kind, but that didn't make him any less intimidating. What would he think? That Roxas had actually stolen something and was only trying to cover his tracks? Would he throw Roxas out as quickly as he'd taken him in?

Just as Roxas began to wonder how wise it really was to divulge this information, Xemnas finished the page he was on and looked up from his book.

"You wanted to tell me something?" asked the man, his fingers drumming against the pages.

"I..." Roxas inhaled sharply to steel himself. "I saw someone. Last night. Inside."

"Inside the manor?" quizzed Xemnas. Whether he was calm or calculating, Roxas couldn't decide.

"It might have been a thief," he continued. "I don't know. I didn't get a good look. I mean, it was dark, and they ran away really fast."

Xemnas leaned back in his chair. "Was the intruder wearing a black coat?"

Roxas' eyes widened. "Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

"I believe," said Xemnas, "that you may have come across my little ghost."

"Ghost?" wondered Roxas. There was no such thing, was there?

"Not a literal ghost," said Xemnas. "I apologize. I should have been upfront with you yesterday. Truth be told, I doubted I would need to explain her existence for several weeks. Even I rarely encounter her, and so her presence does little to sate my loneliness."

"Who is she?" asked Roxas.

"My ward," explained Xemnas. "She is ill. Not with a sickness of the body, but with a sickness of the mind. Thus, her parents abandoned her when she was young, and I saw to it to take the girl under my wing."

Roxas furrowed his brow. "What's wrong with her?"

Xemnas steepled his fingers. "She has a great fear of people. I allow her to wander through this house as she pleases, and yet she rarely makes her presence known. More often than the girl herself, I see broken remains of seashells. I believe she collects them. Were she not to leave the shattered remains for me to dispose of, I would think that I lived with no one at all."

"Seashells?"

"Yes?" said Xemnas, intenerating his brow.

Roxas reached into a pouch at his belt and drew the treasure he'd claimed the night prior. "I found it on my bed," he explained, offering it to Xemnas, palm-up. "It's not broken, though."

"Hmm..." Xemnas eyed the trinket, but made no move to touch it. "Perhaps she developed a fondness for you. More likely than not, the shell was a gift."

"A gift..." Roxas frowned at the shell and curled his fingers into his palm. "What's her name?" he asked, his gaze moving toward Xemnas once more.

"Xion," said the man absently, his attention having already returned to his book. "Much like my study, she is not to be disturbed."

"Right..." Roxas dropped the seashell back into his pocket and turned to leave.

'Don't disturb her'? Did that mean the same thing as 'Don't talk to her'? The way Xemnas said it, that's what it seemed like, but if the shell really was a gift, then was Xion trying to be his friend? And if that was the case, was talking to her really disturbing her? If she was trying to overcome her fear of people, wouldn't Roxas be doing more help than harm by trying to talk to her?

Maybe, if Roxas could help her, that could be his way of repaying Xemnas for everything he'd done. If nothing else, it was as good a place to start as any.

Roxas opened the door to his bedroom with a bright smile. "You know what? Why not?"

* * *

She had always loved winter.

Beautiful, unique snowflakes drifting down from the heavens to the earth below, ice-covered trees winking in the sparse sunlight, hail hammering its melody against the strong rooftops, and best of all, she could go outside without worrying about her health. The only thing that she didn't like about winter was when they took their month-long sabbaticals, but that just made winter that much better when they were home.

At the sound of the creaking hinges on the study door, she jumped to her feet, eager to welcome them home, but only one of them walked through.

"Zexion!" She smiled all the same, jovial to see even one of them.

"Xion," greeted the boy, returning her smile with a closed-mouthed one of his own. He held a stack of heavy-looking tomes in his arms. Xion hastened forward to lessen his load.

"Where's...?"

"He's in the library," said Zexion, who knew exactly where her mind was at. "Doing some last-minute research before we effect a new project."

"What project?" asked Xion as she watched Zexion sort the lexicons into their new homes on the bookshelf.

Zexion smirked and shuffled the last few books in silence before reaching into his coat pocket.

Xion gasped. "Is that a—?!"

"Then you recognize it." Zexion's smile was small, but smug. "I thought you might." He offered the small glass phial to Xion with a gentle hand.

The girl took it into her own hands reverently, cradling it like a candle, her features bathed in the glow of its contents. "How did you get one? You didn't—"

"Of course not," admonished Zexion. "Really, do you have such little faith in us? We simply happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place, if you'd prefer."

"Are you two going to make...you know...another one?" asked Xion, carefully handing the glass container back to its owner.

"That is the plan," said Zexion. "Of course, it will be somewhat different this time. We know who it belongs to, after all."

Xion looked up, a smile spreading across her face.

"Then you're comfortable with the idea?"

"I can't wait," said Xion.

"In that case," Zexion offered the girl his hand, "perhaps you'd like to be there to watch the culmination of our efforts."

"I get to watch?"

"You get to watch."

* * *

Though Roxas had resolved to find Xion, the task was not as easy as he originally thought. Xemnas had been right to call her a ghost. It was as though Xion was not in the house at all. Days passed, and Roxas could find not hide nor hair of the mysterious girl. If Xemnas himself had not confirmed her existence, Roxas would have thought he was going mad.

In truth, Roxas still thought he may have been going mad. Day after day passed, and Roxas found that he never became hungry. The need for water evaded him. Sleep never came to him. He had come to the conclusion that this strange absence of need was most likely to have been caused by stress. After all, he had run away from home, and without even having a chance to say a final farewell to his brother, no less.

Sora... What must he have thought of Roxas, just disappearing like that? Had the rumors reached his ears yet? Did even Sora, with all of his open mind and heart, think the worst of Roxas? It was enough for any man to lose his appetite.

During his first week at the manor, Roxas had been taught how to tend to his own wounds, and it had become routine to do so every evening before going to bed. He would remove his bandages, stare disdainfully at the reflection of his wound in the looking glass, and wrap fresh strips of linen over his shoulder in the way that Xemnas had taught him.

It had been during this process one night, just over a week after his arrival, that Roxas had been finishing his dressing when he happened to glance over his reflection's shoulder. There, from the door he'd left a jar, watched a curious, blue eye. It stayed for only a moment before widening, then vanishing into the darkness.

"W-Wait!" Roxas hurriedly whipped around, wincing as the twist of his torso tugged on his tight shoulder. Ignoring the twinge, he gave chase, barely able to so much as make it through his doorway after stumbling over the corner of his bedcovers with a strained, "Aaa-_aah_!"

This time, when Roxas ran, he could clearly see the figure ahead of him, or at least her back. Xion's hood was down, and the pale moonlight from the sole window behind them caught her short hair, which seemed to be black, though it was difficult to tell in the dark corridor. It matched her clothing: A black, hooded coat that reached her ankles. Roxas noticed the girl's gloves when he drew close enough to reach her hand. They were made of leather, cool and unexpectedly soft to the touch.

"It's Xion, right?" asked Roxas, his hand firmly gripping the girl's to keep her from slipping away. She refused to face him, instead keeping her back turned. Acknowledging her fear, Roxas was quick to comfort her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice gentle and patient. "I just want to talk. I found a shell in my room the other night. Did it come from you?"

There was a long, excruciating moment of silence, a moment that gave Roxas the impression that Xion would not answer at all, but then the girl proved him wrong.

"Yes," said Xion, her voice quiet and shy, just above a whisper.

Roxas smiled. A word. Just one, but it was a start. "Did you leave it there on purpose?"

"Yes," said Xion once more, this time promptly.

"Why?" asked Roxas.

"You said you were nice."

Roxas chuckled gently and released Xion's hand, allowing her to run if she so chose, though he sincerely hoped she wouldn't. "I am," he said. "I wish I had something to give you, too. You know, for the seashell."

"That's okay," replied Xion, her voice still soft, her face still turned away.

"I still want to give you _something_, though," said Roxas. "It's just... I left everything behind when I came here, so I guess friendship is all I have. I mean, if you want it."

Again, there was a long pause. Xion slowly turned in place. Her head rose cautiously, tentatively, meeting Roxas' gaze with blue eyes hidden in part by raven fringes. "You...really want to be my friend?" she asked, hesitation layered in her tones.

"Yeah, of course," said Roxas. "I'd love to." Unthinking, he dipped his head a few centimeters, trying to read the girl's expression. "Have...you ever had a friend before?"

"Once," admitted Xion. "We don't...really get to talk much anymore."

"Why not?" asked Roxas.

This time, Xion really _didn't _answer.

"Guess that's too personal, huh?" Roxas' smile dampened into something more understanding, but clung to his features nonetheless. "How about your friend's name? Can you tell me that?"

Roxas could see the hesitation in Xion's eyes as she pondered whether or not to answer, but then... "His name's Axel."

"Axel..." Roxas' smile widened just a fraction, if just out of happiness that Xion was talking to him. "That's a pretty cool name. What's he like?"

"He's nice," said Xion, a small smile of her own gracing her pretty face. "Like you.

Roxas couldn't help but like this girl. She held a sincerely sweet nature about her. Being with her, for the first time since Roxas left home, he actually felt content. Maybe even _happy_. "Do you want to tell me more about him? We could go into my room, and—"

"No." Xion took a step back. Her smile was long gone. "I can't."

Roxas' smile disappeared a well. "Why can't you?"

"I just..." For the third time, a deafening silence appeared between the two. "I just can't." Without a further word of explanation, the girl turned and walked away, leaving Roxas feeling very confused, perhaps even a little hurt. But then, halfway to the grand staircase, Xion paused and turned around, sending Roxas one last, hesitant smile.

"Maybe..." Her eyes seemed to brighten in the darkness, though it could have been Roxas' imagination. "Maybe we can talk again sometime, though!" she called, a half-hearted smile capturing her features for a split second before vanishing again, the smile's owner disappearing along with it, consumed by the darkness of the east wing.


	3. Whispers of the Wind

**Chapter 3**

_Whispers of the Wind_

Not much had changed over the past week of Roxas' life.

He still wasn't sleeping, but that didn't bother him too much. Honestly, he was beginning to appreciate the extra hours that would have otherwise gone into unconsciousness.

However, he also hadn't eaten since he left home two weeks prior. That was not as easy to accept. He'd watched the sun rise and set no less than fourteen times without craving so much as a single slice of bread. He wasn't growing thin, nor was he feeling weak. For whatever reason, the need to eat was simply...missing.

While Roxas stood in front of the mirror, redressing his wound per routine and trying to decide whether the prior two weeks had been anything more than a dream, he caught sight of a familiar blue eye from the doorway in the looking glass. He smiled and tied off the ends of his bandages before turning around, cautious in his movements, as if he were approaching a wild animal rather than a nervous girl.

"Xion," he greeted, reaching for the shirt he'd set on his bed so that he could pull it over his head. To his surprise, the same girl who had been so frightened at the mere mention of entering his room just a week before slid inside without the smallest hesitation.

"Hi, um..." Xion closed the door behind her with one hand, the other picking nervously at the hood of her coat, eyes averted. Roxas watched her for a long, curious moment before the reason behind her hesitation finally came to him.

"Oh, I never told you my name, huh?" Xion looked up at him with a nervous smile, and that was all the answer he needed. "It's Roxas."

"Roxas..." Xion lifted her head, and the anxiety disappeared into her kind smile. "It's nice to meet you."

Roxas laughed quietly and offered his hand, which was quickly met with the cool leather of Xion's glove.

"What brings you here?" he asked, withdrawing his hand.

"There's...something I wanted to ask," explained Xion. Shy, but...not scared. "Do you...have a family?"

Roxas' head bowed. It was his turn to be nervous. He hadn't even thought about his family for at least the past week, and suddenly, he was all too aware of that fact, and with that awareness came guilt. He sighed heavily and turned to take a seat on the edge of his bed. "I've got a brother. Sora." He shook his head. "He's a total goofball, and he's definitely not the sharpest thorn in the bush, but he's..." Roxas frowned, searching for the mot juste. "..._wise_, I guess."

Xion tried to hide her amused smile behind a gloved hand, but when Roxas lifted his head, he saw it in her eyes. "How can someone be dumb and wise at the same time?"

"It's hard to explain," replied Roxas, grinning in turn. It was encouraging to see Xion break through her shyness enough to be this playful. "He's got this way of...knowing people, you know? He can tell what people are feeling, even when they're trying to hide it. Even if they're _strangers_. And he knows exactly what to say when people are upset. I guess that's why he and Riku get along so well."

"Riku?" asked Xion, her eyebrows raised.

"Oh, heh..." Roxas rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that he'd gotten ahead of himself. "He's Sora's best friend. He's really quiet, and he's got this bad habit of blame himself for things that aren't his fault, or things he can't help. Sora doesn't really...get mad. I mean, he can, but if _Sora _gets mad at you, that's how you know you really messed up _bad_. But I think Riku could kill someone and Sora would barely even scold him for it. They're close. Real close. And Sora always knows exactly what to do to make Riku feel better about himself."

"You, too?" asked Xion. "I mean, does he make _you _feel better about yourself?"

Roxas' smile shrank a fraction. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Me, too."

Xion looked down at her feet for a moment, nervous again. It took a moment, but she did eventually lift her head to ask another question. "What about your parents?"

Roxas shrugged. "I never knew my dad," he explained. "Mom died in the 'big storm' a few years ago. It's just been me and Sora ever since. Well, I mean, mostly. Riku and Kairi help us out, and they're kind of like family, too, but—"

"Kairi?" asked Xion.

"Another one of Sora's friends," explained Roxas. "Actually, you look a lot like her. Your hair's black, though. Hers is kind of...mahogany, I guess. Kind of a reddish-brown."

Xion touched her cheek. "You're...able to see my face?"

"Yeah..." answered Roxas with a cocked eyebrow. "It's not _that _dark in here."

Xion smiled and shook her head. Strangely, she seemed a lot happier than she had been only a moment before. "Sorry, I..."

Roxas waited patiently for the explanation that seemed to be on the tip of Xion's tongue, but it never came, so he moved on to the next subject. "What about _your _family? I mean, besides Xemnas."

"Um..." Xion averted her eyes. "I...had...a dad and two brothers, but..."

"Oh..." Roxas dropped his gaze to his hands. They fidgeted on his knees. So that was why she was staying with Xemnas. If Roxas didn't have Sora, then...

"Why are you here?" asked Xion, as if responding to Roxas' thoughts. "I mean, if you have a brother, then..."

Roxas reached for his shoulder and rubbed the aching wound beneath it. "I...broke a law. A big one. And everyone back home... They weren't happy about it."

Xion chewed her lip.

Roxas shuffled his feet.

"Xemnas isn't nice."

Roxas flinched at the non-sequitur and looked up to meet Xion's eyes, half-expecting her to be joking. One look at her desperate expression told him that she wasn't. "What are you talking about?" He shook his head. "He took me in, even though he knew there were people after me. He gave me clothes, and a bed, and—and he helped me out when I was..." Roxas gripped his shoulder again, a little too hard. He ignored the sting. "And he lets _you _stay here, too! How can you say something like that?"

"I know he seems nice at first," said Xion, "but he isn't." Roxas watched her hands clench into fists. "You should go back and find your brother, and then go somewhere else if you have to. Anywhere else. But not here. It's not safe."

Roxas stood from the edge of his bed, brow furrowed. His own hands curled into fists. "I don't believe you."

Xion's eyes widened with hurt, and Roxas found himself wishing he had said what he'd said at least a little more delicately. She clasped her hands together tightly, her fingers overlapping one another. Roxas couldn't see her knuckles, but he had no doubt that they were white beneath the fabric of her gloves. "I... I'm just trying to help you, Roxas."

Roxas shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, quiet, but still firm. "Even if I did believe you, I have nowhere else to go."

Xion dropped her gaze. "Okay," she said quietly, an unspoken ache in her voice. "If... If you ever change your mind, then...tell me, and I'll try to help you get out."

* * *

In the center of a circular room, in front of a polished maple desk, surrounded by bookshelves, stood the very vision of a bel-esprit. The light from the stained-glass window behind the desk caught his eyes, igniting the acid green ring around his eyes. Blond hair cascaded down to his shoulder blades and framed his stern-looking face, accentuating his angular features. With careful, albeit knobby hands, he labored away at the crystalline figure before him, carving into the ice effortlessly with little more than the languid strokes of his long, thin fingers. He bent low, scrutinizing the fact of his creation, frowning in ardent concentration.

"Is this an exact replica?" asked the man of his young companion, a famulus seated in the chair behind the desk.

"It does seem to be," replied the boy. He stood, the long fringes that favored the right side of his face tickling his collarbone with his movements. He approached his elder, the spine of an aged tome in one hand, its cover splayed out across his fingers. With his free hand, he traced an image that only he could see. "Hmm... Although perhaps..." He turned a delicate page with a feather-light touch and peered down at the figure, looking into its eyes. Unlike his lankier companion, he did not need to bend to make eye contact. The stool that displayed the glassy creation was enough to bring the figure to eye-level. He compared it to the book in his hand, his blue eyes flittering back and forth. "Yes, his eyes are not quite so...severe in the Atlas of Omens."

"Hm." The taller man reached out and covered his sculpture's eyes with his thumbs. He slid them across, tracing invisible lines that started at the bridge of the nose and moved outward toward the temples. When he withdrew his hands, the eyes were softer. More sincere. "Does that suffice, Zexion?"

Zexion, for of course it was he, nodded and closed the book in his hands. With careful footsteps, he walked around the shaped ice, inspecting every inch of the sculpture. When he returned to the point where he started, he placed the lexicon carefully on the desk. "I believe it does," he confirmed. "And in that case, may I have the honors, Vexen?"

The man, Vexen, nodded tersely. "Very well, I did the last one myself, after all."

Zexion crossed the room, passing the sculpture as well as a silent, reverent girl watching from beside the window. He sent her a patient smile, but when he reached the bookcase, he became almost eerily stern, understanding the importance of what he was about to do.

On one of the shelves, between two of the books, sat a small, glass urn, something pink glittering from the inside. Zexion carefully removed the lid, and that pink glow rose up and out. With a gentle hand, the boy reached forward and caught the light, caging it in his fingers gently as if it were a rare butterfly: Precious, but fragile. He replaced the lid with his free hand and carried the light back to the sculpture. The air stilled in the room, frozen in awe for some, in concentration for others. Zexion sidled close to Vexen, facing the statue's front, his hand only inches from its chest. When his fingers parted, the light within rose again to hover just a few centimeters above his palm.

Zexion leaned down, lowering his face to his hand. He inhaled deeply, parted his lips, and blew a current of cool air toward the light, guiding it forward until it met the sculpture's chest.

Upon meeting the surface of the ice, the effulgent pink slowly began to bleed past it, sliding deeper and deeper until it reached the core of the carving. Once there, the light bloomed outward, refracting against every surface, every slight imperfection, and glittering like a diamond in the sunlight.

Still glimmering, the creation blinked and lifted its head, as if seeing for the first time and trying to process its surroundings from top to bottom.

Zexion reached out with a single hand and pressed two fingers to the creature's forehead. Where there had been living, glittering ice before, pigment began to flow like watercolor soaking into a white cloth, spreading outward from Zexion's touch. Pale skin replaced the statue's transparent face. Its hair changed very little, but grew opaque, and ceased to shine so brilliantly. From the neck down, the coat, carved painstakingly from Vexen's steady hands, turned black, contrasting brilliantly with the creature's hair. Its eyes, however, were the most striking feature. Though they were no longer transparent, having become turquoise in color, they seemed to shine no less.

"He is handsome indeed," said Vexen, and nodded in approval. "Excellent choice, Zexion.

"Thank you, Vexen."

The boy, for that was now exactly what the carving had become, stepped shakily down from the stool. His two creators hastily reached out and grabbed his arms, guiding him down.

"You need to be more careful," chided Zexion. "You might look human, but this is only an illusion. Underneath it, you're still only ice, which makes you very fragile."

"Ice is...fragile," said the boy absently.

"That's right," agreed Vexen. "Of course, you won't melt at room temperature. I have seen to that. Still, I do suggest you avoid fireplaces."

"Avoid fireplaces..." parrotted the boy.

Zexion sighed. "Judging from precedent, I suppose he'll be doing that for about a week?"

"Until he builds up a decent vocabulary, yes." Vexen released his creation's arm and gestured for Zexion to do the same. "And he will need a name." ("Name..." echoed the boy.) "Was the original's name mentioned in that tome?"

"Until he builds up a decent vocabulary, yes." Vexen released his creation's arm and gestured for Zexion to do the same. "And he will need a name." ("Name..." echoed the boy.) "Was the original's name mentioned in that tome?"

Zexion lifted his book from the desktop and shuffled through its pages only to stop suddenly and trace his fingers across the seemingly blank parchment. His hand stilled over the page, and he tapped his index finger. "His name is...Riku."

"Riku." Vexen turned down toward his creation and bent low, resting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Then it is decided. Your name will be as much a replica as you are. Your name henceforth shall be Riku."


	4. Cold As Ice

**Chapter 4**

_Cold as Ice_

Snow.

Feathery white flakes glided on the breeze that late autumn day, dancing through the wind, spiraling and swirling close to walls, lamps, anything within their reach before being pulled away and continuing their graceful, gusty waltz all the way to the ground. The snow was as beautiful as it had always been, but Sora couldn't remember it ever being quite so cold.

"Sora..."

That gentle voice caught his attention, dragging his gaze away from the falling snowflakes. He turned his head toward the sound, not the slightest bit surprised to see his closest friend standing not too far away. After all, he had seen those same concerned eyes at least once a day for the past month.

"Hey, Riku." Sora smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why're you here?

You know why I'm here," sighed Riku, exasperation hidden under the patience he earned after years of suffering a well-meaning but reckless friendship. "Someone has to look after you, since you can't seem to do it yourself." He took a few steps closer and offered his hand. "You need to stop doing things like this. You're just making yourself worse."

Sora took the proffered hand, warm within his own, and used it to pull his shivering body up from the earthen path below. He was immediately consumed by a pleasant warmth. There was no need for him to bother taking his eyes off of the dying grass beneath his feet; he knew that Riku had wrapped him in his coat. Again. "It's not like I went into the woods this time," he grumbled. "I was just...keeping watch."

Riku opened the front door and gently coaxed Sora into going inside, a firm hand at his back. "Yeah, keeping watch in freezing weather," he chided quietly. "Making yourself sicker. Look, your fire's almost out."

Sora finally lifted his head from the wooden flooring just in time to see Riku crouch down in front of the dying embers. "You don't have to do that, you know," he mumbled, knowing full well that there was no point in arguing. Riku could be...overprotective sometimes.

"Someone has to," grumbled the boy in question. By the time a full minute had passed, a small flame had sparked to life, which Riku was quick to feed with some lumber from beside the fireplace. "What did you think you were doing, anyway? It's not like Roxas can just walk back into town like nothing happened. And if he tried, he'd be put to death for witchcraft. You know that."

"It's not _witchcraft_," insisted Sora in a huff.

"_I_ know that," replied Riku, looking over his shoulder, "but _they _don't. They see someone doing something people shouldn't be able to do, and they get scared. Besides, Roxas did it to steal—"

"Yeah, _medicine_!" whined Sora. "For _me_! I mean, yeah, he shouldn't have done that, but he was just doing what his heart told him to, right? And he only did it because we couldn't afford it, so—"

"I _know_, Sora." Riku climbed to his feet and turned around to grip his friend's shoulders. "You've told me a thousand times. I get it. You never needed to tell me in the first place. I knew why he did it from the start. I would have done the same thing. But you know how people are. Their minds are made up. There's no point in getting worked up over it."

Sora groaned and allowed his head to loll forward and rest against Riku's shoulder. "I can't just do nothing," he whispered.

Riku sighed and pulled one of his hands away from Sora to rub the bridge of his nose. "Sora, the best thing you can do right now is focus on getting better. That's what Roxas would want you to do. You know that as much as I do."

Sora lifted his head. "I know, but... Riku, I can't sleep like this! He's out there somewhere! By _himself_! If—" A rattling cough cut his words short. He covered his mouth with his hands. Riku's coat began to slip from his shoulders.

"I _told _you not get yourself worked up," chastised Riku as he reached up to adjust the jacket. He pulled it tighter around Sora's shoulders, against his neck, where it wouldn't fall off. "Just relax. Got it?"

"Don't—" Sora managed to interject in the midst of his coughing fit. Thankfully, it was only a moment before his coughing lessened enough for him to talk. "I don't want—" Cough. "—to make you sick, too."

"I won't get sick," assuaged Riku. "I promise. Now come on." He took Sora by the arm and led him to his bedroom.

Once they were inside, Riku sighed emphatically. The fire really _had _gone out in _this _room's fireplace. Having convinced Sora to sit down on the bed, he pulled away. "I'll get a coal from the other fire. You just get under the blankets."

"But—" protested Sora, only to be cut off when Riku reached out a hand to cover his mouth.

"_Now_, Sora," said Riku sternly.

Grudgingly, Sora complied.

When Riku returned with the coal as promised, Sora rolled onto his side and watched him bring yet another fire to life. "You're pretty good at that."

Riku stood up and made his way to Sora's bed. "I'll make you a deal," he said, taking a seat on the edge. "If you promise not to do anything stupid while I'm gone, I'll go out and look for Roxas myself. Stay inside, keep the fire going, get as much rest as you can—"

"_No_!" Sora tried to sit up, only for Riku to push him back down. "Riku, what if something happens to you?"

"Don't you think the same thought goes through my head every time I catch you trying to sneak out?" demanded Riku.

"I don't want to lose my brother _and _my best friend!" protested Sora. "No way am I letting that happen!"

"And _I _don't want to lose _you_," countered Riku.

"But _you _wouldn't be _alone _if you lost me."

"Neither would you. You'd still have Kairi—"

"That doesn't count. Her parents—"

"Sora, stop."

Sora stopped, his face freezing somewhere between a glare and a pout.

"I wouldn't be the same if I lost you." Sora felt Riku's hand grip the blankets by his arm. "You said I wouldn't be alone, but I might as well be. I'm nobody without you."

Sora's expression softened. "Riku... Why would you say that?" He shook his head, ignoring the way it tangled his hair against the mattress. "You're way stronger than I am. You'd be just fine on your own. I know you would be."

"I'm not as strong as you think." Riku's hand sought out Sora's, giving it a gentle squeeze before Riku rose from the bed. "I'll still bring you dinner every night, same as usual, and if I catch you out of bed for anything that's not getting water or feeding the fire, the deal's off, and I'll start babysitting you twenty-four seven."

"Is that a promise?" asked Sora, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

For a second, Riku seemed surprised, and Sora thought he might have taken his teasing seriously, but the shock passed quickly, and a laugh pushed itself past Riku's lips before he had a chance to stop it. "How are you still such a dork when you're this sick?"

"Special talent," said Sora, replacing his smirk with a grin. "Way more useful than the lock-picking thing."

"Huh." Riku smiled, shook his head, and retrieved his coat from where Sora had left it at the head of his bed. That in hand, he started for the door. "I'll begin my search first thing in the morning."

* * *

Xion was innately curious. It had only taken a handful of visits from her before Roxas ascertained that part of her personality. Despite Xemnas' insistence that she refused to talk to people, Xion never seemed to stop asking Roxas questions. Sometimes about life outside the walls of the mansion, sometimes about Roxas' personal life. She begged for memories of his mother, stories about his brother, any tiny detail about his village that he could spare... Whatever knowledge she could sink her teeth into. It was as if she hadn't learned anything in her life and was yearning to make up for years of ignorance now that she had a teacher.

"So... 'Roxas...' Do a lot of people have that name?"

"No," replied Roxas, a smile on his face, same as the smile he wore every time Xion visited his room. "Actually, I don't think anyone else in the world has it."

"Then why do you have it?" asked Xion, her arms wrapped comfortably around one of Roxas' bedposts. "Your mom had a reason for naming you that, right?"

"Well..." began Roxas. "I guess you could say I wasn't supposed to exist. I mean, my mom knew she was going to have a kid, but she wasn't expecting two." He leaned back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. "She told me...that she heard of a tradition from a country south of here where if people had twins, the second twin's name would be the same as the first twin's name, only 'anti'. Like, I could have been 'Anti-Sora', but she didn't like the way that sounded, so instead, she replaced 'anti' with an 'X' and just jumbled the letters around. She used to tell me that the 'X' stood for 'extra', but I think the real reason she chose an 'X' was because she liked to be different, and the letter 'X' isn't in most names." He propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Xion. "But you said your friend's name is Axel, right? Ax-el..." he tried the word out, speaking slowly, sounding it out. "There's an 'X' in that name, isn't there?"

"Mmhmm," intoned Xion. "There's one in my name, too. X-I-O-N."

Roxas sat up a little straighter, leaning on his hands instead of his elbows. "Hey, you're always asking me questions... Mind if I ask one?"

"Um, sure," said Xion, taken aback. "I'll _try _to answer it, but I don't really know that much."

"Well, you know where my name came from now, right?" regretting the decision to lean on his injured arm, Roxas pulled it up and rested it on his knee, favoring his left arm instead. "So I wanna know where yours comes from. 'Xion' isn't exactly common either."

"Oh!" Xion's surprise was replaced by an eager smile. "I actually know that one. You see, my dad was an explorer..." She leaned against the bedpost, closing her eyes with a nostalgic smile. "Before he settled down here, he went everywhere, always trying to learn new things, making money for ship fare any way that he could... And his two favorite places were two countries from the same part of the world. I don't remember what they were called, but I remember my father saying that one of them had dragons everywhere."

"_Dragons_?" Roxas raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Not _real _ones!" Xion opened her eyes with a giggle. "Just statues and murals and stuff. Anyway, my dad named me after one of the rivers in the Land of Dragons, the Xi River, and the word for 'woman' in the language of the other country. Officially, my name is 'Xionna', but the only time anyone ever called me that was my dad when I did something I wasn't supposed to."

"Xionna's a really pretty name, though," said Roxas.

"Yeah, I guess, but it's just not..._me_, you know?" Xion's smile seemed to dampen, if only slightly. She averted her gaze to the carpet beneath the bed. "I don't have much from when my dad and my brothers were still around. Just my name. If I don't hold onto that...I feel like their memories would be gone forever."

Roxas pulled himself upright and rubbed his shoulder. "Xion..." he began hesitantly. "What...happened to them?"

Xion released the bedpost she'd been leaning against and stepped back, away from Roxas, toward the door. Her smile had vanished yet again, replaced with crestfallen mourning. "Maybe I'll tell you one day, but right now, you just... You wouldn't understand."

"Why not?" asked Roxas. "I lost my mom, so I know what it's like for someone you love to go away, and how it feels knowing they won't ever come back. I know how that hurt feels. Like it wears a hole in your heart that you have to keep stitching back together. How could I not understand how you feel when I've felt exactly the same? Why won't you tell me?

"I'm sorry." Without bothering with an explanation, Xion turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor. Roxas gripped the collar of his shirt, left to nurse the ache of an empty space in his chest.

* * *

"Seeeeeasheeeeell. Now you try."

The boy sitting across from Xion turned the smooth, shining object over in his gloved hands, inspecting the gleaming inside and comparing it to the rough, brownish outside. "...Seashell."

"Xion," called Zexion from where he perused the bookshelf across the room, "there's no need to patronize him. Riku is intelligent enough to understand what you're saying without elongating the vowels."

"I know," said Xion. "But he's so...spacey. Sometimes he just picks a word instead of saying the one I want him to say."

"I'm...spacey?" asked Riku.

"Just a little bit," admitted Xion.

"Just a little bit," echoed Riku.

"He'll only be this way for two more days at the longest," explained Zexion, picking a book from the shelf and flipping briefly through it. "You just need to be patient with him. Soon, he will be just as articulate as you are."

"Articulate?" questioned Riku as well as Xion, both turning to face the eldest of them.

Zexion sighed, closing the book with a muted snap. "He'll be better at speaking."

"Oh." Xion turned her head, watching Riku again as he ran his thumbs over the sharp edges of the shell. "Was I ever like that?"

"Yes, you were," acknowledged Zexion as he slid his book back onto the shelf. "To be honest, he's learning much faster than you did. It was a long time before you learned to speak at all. Riku was able to speak immediately, even if his speech patterns did seem somewhat..."

"Spacey?" offered Riku, trying out his new word in context.

"I suppose that's an accurate enough description," agreed Zexion. "Not the word I would have chosen, but acceptable. Well done, Riku."

The boy seemed to pay the compliment no mind, his attention utterly absorbed by the shell in his hands.

Xion watched him with a fond smile. "You really like that, don't you?" She turned toward the oldest of them once more. "Hey, Zexion? Do you think I could learn to make something out of seashells? I want to give Riku a present when he learns how to speak, like when Vexen gave me my first seashell."

"Hmm..." Zexion chose a new book from the shelf and opened it. "I have heard of a legend from an archipelago Vexen once visited—a place called Destiny Islands. If I am remembering correctly, they give star-shaped trinkets made of seashells to sailors set to embark on a journey under the belief that the trinkets will bring them home safely. Of course, the myth behind the charms—Wayfinders, I believe they're called—is nothing more than a fairy tale, but that does not stop the Wayfinders themselves from being lovely. There could be a problem with this, however, as I believe the charms are only capable of being made from five shells like the first of the shells that Vexen has given you. Thalassa shells, as they're called. Incidentally, the inhabitants of Olympus observe a deity of the same name. One has to consider the possible connections between the goddess Thalassa and—"

"Zexion, you're doing it again."

Zexion raised his eyebrows. Xion covered her mouth, hiding her grin behind her glove. Riku's eyes darted between the two of them, the alarm and confusion on his face impossible to miss.

Xion was the first to break the stunned silence. Loud, excited giggles filled the room as she leaned forward and yanked her brother into a tight hug. "That was great, Riku!"

Zexion frowned. "I do wish his first sentence had been something other than _that_, but I am proud nonetheless. Well done."

Xion chuckled. "It's probably just because I say it so much, but _still_! Wow, Riku!" She pulled away and patted the boy's cheeks. "You're so smart!"

Zexion marked his page and closed his book, tucking it under his arm. "I believe that may be deserving of ice cream. Let's find Vexen, shall we? There is something I need to discuss with him, so we might as well kill two birds with one stone."

Xion beamed and climbed to her feet, pulling Riku up by the wrists. "Have you had ice cream yet?"

"Ice cream?" quizzed Riku, testing the new word in his mouth.

"You're going to love it!" said Xion beamishly. "Come on!"

* * *

"Roxas, might I speak with you?"

Roxas discarded the book that he could just barely read and straightened his back in his chair. It was a rare thing to see Xemnas at all, and rarer still to actually converse with him. If Xemnas had been purposely seeking Roxas out, it must have been due to something important.

"Yes?"

Xemnas pulled out the chair across from Roxas at the table and took a seat. "Something ill-conceived has taken place, and I am needed away from home for a time to tend to it.

"Really?" asked Roxas. "What?"

"It is...a private matter," explained Xemnas, his golden eyes locked firmly onto Roxas'. "I have only told you this much to make a point of reiterating the house rules. I want to be sure that it is clear to you that they are still in place regardless of whether or not I am present."

"The...house rules..." echoed Roxas.

Xemnas' expression hardened. "You are not to enter my study, and you are not to approach Xion."

Roxas' eyes widened in realization. He'd almost forgotten that those were rules at all. The second rule, well, that was pretty much shot. By now, Xion was probably the best friend Roxas ever had, except maybe for Sora. As for the first rule, the one about not going into Xemnas' study... Honestly, he hadn't even considered that room in weeks. The door had fallen in with the background. Roxas just avoided it out of habit now.

Well, one out of two wasn't bad, right?

"Right..." Roxas chuckled. "The house rules. Got it."

"See to it that you do," warned Xemnas, climbing to his feet. "I will leave tonight, and I will do my best to return by sunset tomorrow."

With that, Xemnas left the room, and Roxas forgot about that conversation for a very long time.

* * *

Vexen opened the door to the woodcarver's home with a heavy hand.

The woodcarver himself, an elderly man, looked up from his polishing to smile at his guest.

"Ah," he greeted. "Signor Medico, I was hoping you would be back again tonight. You have more of the medicine, I hope?"

"Of course," said Vexen, who was already reaching into his rucksack to procure a golden bottle of elixir. "I wouldn't dream of seeking your hospitality without payment." He passed it on to the old man who laughed jubilantly and kissed the bottle before setting it on a shelf.

"That medicine, it is a life saver. My aching back has not felt as fine as it does now since I was a man in my thirties."

"I am glad to hear it," said Vexen, taking a seat at a nearby chair and folding his hands over the top. "A man as hospitable and respectable as yourself should be in good health. The longer that people like you occupy the world, the better off it will be. Naturally, it is my pleasure to see to your good health."

The woodcarver released a jolly laugh and shook his head. "You flatter me. No, the joy your medicine has brought me is worth so much more than the shelter I have given you. If there is anything else you need from me, you need only ask."

"Incidentally, Mr. Geppetto..."

"Yes?"

"I met a boy on the streets this afternoon," explained Vexen. "Perhaps five to seven years of age, rale thin, pale... And he guarded a book as closely to him as if it were his only family. Strange, for a street child to be literate, and even more so for him to treasure a book so dearly. I was wondering whether you might know anything about him."

"Ah..." Geppetto nodded slowly and removed his glasses. "I do know that boy. He does have quite the reputation, and a strange one at that." The woodcarver slowly, almost mournfully, lowered himself into the chair across from Vexen and set his spectacles on the tabletop. "There was a family of oratores, headed by Bishop Corazza. A kinder clergyman you could never find. But, as they say, the closer you are to the light, the greater your shadow becomes."

Vexen felt his body leaning forward despite himself, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Some were still resentful of his position in power," continued Geppetto, "despite Bishop Corazza being the best man for the job, and some men, when they have an idea in their heads, cannot be deterred." He shook his head sadly. "In the middle of spring, two years ago, Bishop Corazza's manor was burned to the ground. The only survivor of his entire family was the youngest of his sons. Those responsible were found, yes, and executed, but killing one man cannot bring back another."

"I presume this means that the sole survivor was our street child," said Vexen. "What I do not understand is why a child from such an influential family would be left to fend for himself."

"Many a great man has tried to take the boy in," said Geppetto. "Myself among them. You see, I have always wanted to be a father." He cleared his throat. "But all of those who open their hearts and homes to the boy are rejected."

"Rejected?" questioned Vexen. "The boy rejects the chance to get off the streets?"

"Yes," said Geppetto. "Strange isn't it? He absolutely refuses to go anywhere with anyone. He doesn't speak, and he rarely moves from his place in the shadow of the church. Most say that he has gone mad, that hearing his parents' dying screams has taken the sense right out of him. But I..." The man tapped his temple, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "I see something in that boy's face. There is too much determination. He waits for something. He knows something. Perhaps he heard the voice of God that night, or perhaps he carries it in his arms."

"The book?"

Geppetto nodded. "I see him, always on the steps, the book spread out on his lap. I see him turn pages, never looking up once, and yet, I've seen the book that he reads, and its pages are completely blank."

Vexen raised his eyebrows. "Blank, you say? How curious."

"One more reason why people think the boy is mad," said the woodcarver, leaning over his table, "but I say that perhaps it is we who are blind to the truth. The boy is a prophet, I think. Blessed by God in return for his father's kindness. After all, how else could he have survived as long as he has when he refuses the help of any who might offer it?"

* * *

"Roxas! Wake up, Roxas!"

Roxas groaned blearily, waking slowly to the sound of his friend's normally-gentle voice...not so gentle this night.

"Xion?" he grumbled wearily. "What—"

"Get up! You're bleeding!"

Roxas frowned suspiciously and looked down at himself. True to Xion's word, there was blood everywhere, sickening amounts. It was as if a massacre had taken place. Sticky crimson staked its claim all over his bed, streaked and smeared his chest, but most notably, it drenched his shoulder, gluing the fabric of his shirt to his skin. That sight was more than enough to banish any remains of sleep from his body. It was startling, that was for sure, but not exactly confusing. Roxas had to admit, over the past month, he'd gotten sloppy with his bandages. After all, his wound had never been a problem. Perhaps it wasn't really healing the way he would have liked it to, but it hadn't been bleeding, either. Roxas supposed he must have disturbed it in his sleep and pulled his bandages loose at the same time.

He reached up and grabbed the wound. It hurt like hell. What a way to wake up.

"Come on!" Xion tugged on Roxas' good arm, trying to pull him out of bed. "I have some stuff that can help!"

Having been successfully dragged out from under the covers, Roxas hurriedly followed Xion down the corridor. She led him into the west wing, which he normally avoided for fear of disturbing Xemnas, and through a door on the left wall.

The room beyond the door was circular with a polished maple desk on the far side of the room and a rug as round as the room itself spread out in the center. Shelves lined the walls, mostly occupied by books, the number of which made Roxas want to describe it as a smaller version of the library downstairs if not for the fact that they were occasionally parted by various jars.

It was one of those jars that Xion was after. She reached for a transparent one that contained a liquid. It was difficult to tell in the low light, but the liquid seemed...blue. How odd. Stranger still, green stars floated around in the liquid, like some sort of mystical soup.

Xion shoved it into Roxas' hands. "Drink this. I promise it'll make you feel better."

Roxas sent the strange jar a brief, dubious stare before deciding that his trust for Xion and the pain in his shoulder outweighed his fear of whatever this odd mixture might be.

It was lukewarm, had no taste, and if not for the gelatinous stars, Roxas might have said it had no texture. A chill spread from his chest outward, as if someone had pushed a handful of snow into his shirt, save for the fact that the cold ran through his entire body before targeting his shoulder in particular. It wasn't exactly pleasant, being frozen like that, but Roxas' shoulder, for the first time in a month, stopped hurting almost completely. Not even the dull ache he'd been dealing with prior to that night remained. If anything, it just felt like a scrape.

Xion tugged down Roxas' collar and pulled back the bandages to inspect his wound beneath them. A relieved sigh fell from her lips. When she met Roxas' eyes again, she was smiling. "Let's get you cleaned up now, okay?

Roxas led Xion back to his bedroom, not even hesitating to let her stay in the room with him while he cleaned what was left of his wound. She'd seen his bare chest enough times by now that any modesty Roxas might have originally had was long-since forgotten.

"You're not going to tell me what that stuff was, are you?" he accused, looking at Xion through the looking glass. She didn't say a word, and Roxas took that as his answer. With the blood gone from his shoulder, he dressed his wound yet again-though it really felt unnecessary; all that remained was a pink scar with a shallow cut in the center.

"Did Xemnas tell you he was leaving?" asked Xion. Making small-talk, no doubt, to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah, he did," replied Roxas. "Heh, he reminded me of the house rules. You know, don't go in the study, don't talk to Xion. Whoops." He looked over his shoulder at the girl in question and grinned broadly. "Well, I haven't gone into the study yet, so I'm not completely deviant, right?"

Xion opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it again quickly, stealing Roxas' smile away in the same instant. A few seconds passed, and she tried again, though Roxas highly suspected that she changed what she was going to say.

"Are you hungry?"

Roxas almost responded, but before he got the chance, his stomach did the deed for him.

Xion smiled brightly and took Roxas by the hand. "Come on. I'll teach you how to make rice."

* * *

The day had come, the day that the boat would leave and take Vexen from this Paradise on to the next.

He stood among the milling crowd, each pair of eyes around him on the S. S. Monstro as it prepared to set sail. His sparse belongings shifted on his shoulder as he stepped forward. There was nothing left to do here. He was ready to embark.

As he began to move, however, a tiny hand appeared from seemingly nowhere to grip his own. Surprised, he turned around and looked down. Barely reaching his elbow stood the Corazza orphan, one hand holding the book beneath his arm, the other attached firmly onto Vexen's own.

The man crouched down so that he was eye level with the boy. "Hello, Child," he said quietly. "I don't suppose you've learned English since our last encounter."

The child merely stared, his expression strangely morose. How peculiar.

"It was good to see you one last time," said Vexen. "However, my ship will be departing soon, and I really must be onboard." He began to stand, but the child tugged on his arm, keeping him down.

Vexen frowned, confused.

The child slowly shook his head, holding steady eye contact.

Chills rolled up Vexen's spine, standing his hair on end. He'd never met a child so unsetting. It was hardly a wonder people thought him mad. And yet...

_ The boy is a prophet, I think. Blessed by God in return for his father's kindness._

Vexen's gaze flicked to the book, then back up.

"What exactly are you trying to warn me of?"

The child stared.

"Is it unwise to embark the ship? Will I be in danger?"

The child stared.

Vexen sighed. He could hardly believe he was doing this, listening to the whim of some strange, orphaned child. All the same... "Very well," he said, allowing his belongings to drop to the ground beside him. "If you deem it necessary, I will stay."

Stay he did.

And so did the child.

They sat across from each other, each cross-legged, the child's book resting on his lap, Vexen's rucksack on his. There, they watched each other for hours on end, reading each other's expressions, having silent conversations, until the sun touched the horizon.

Then, the child stood.

So did Vexen.

They each returned to their respective shelters that evening, the child drifting toward the church, Vexen meandering toward Geppetto's woodshop, both having felt strangely as though they'd met a life-long friend.

* * *

"And then you just put the lid on the cauldron and watch the clock. It should be done in about twenty minutes."

Roxas did as he was told and backed away from the fireplace, watching it as if the whole thing would topple over without his supervision. He did, however, manage to tear his gaze away to smile at Xion before sitting down in the same chair he sat in when he first arrived, when Xemnas cleaned his wound for the first time.

"Roxas... Do you know why Xemnas doesn't want you to go into, um, his _study_?"

The boy looked over his shoulder at his friend, who had taken to standing behind his chair, giving the fireplace a wide berth.

"He said he likes to keep it private," said Roxas. "That's all."

"But...he also said that I was sick, right?" asked Xion. "That I was afraid of people...but that's not true at all. I'm not even that shy. So there's no reason not to talk to me, is there?"

Roxas faltered. "Where are you going with this?"

"Roxas, I really think you should go into that room." Xion bit her lip. "I mean...not right away. You can eat first, but, I mean, before Xemnas comes back, okay?"

"Why?" asked Roxas. This was the second time that Xion had hinted that Xemnas wasn't all that he seemed to be. "What's in there?"

Xion gripped the back of his chair. "You wouldn't believe me," she said. "You'd think I was lying, and you'd get mad, and then you'd never want to go in there. You need to see it for yourself."

Roxas looked down at his feet. There had to be a reason that Xion was saying all this. He'd trusted her with that strange substance, so why couldn't he trust her with this? Besides, she did have a point. Roxas had made the right decision in going against Xemnas' word when it came to Xion, so who was to say that going against his word again wouldn't also be the right choice? "Well... He did say not to go inside. He didn't say anything about just opening the door and...looking, right?"

In the blink of an eye, Xion had dashed around the chair and pulled Roxas into her arms. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Whoa!" Roxas pushed her away and began rubbing his neck, trying to get it warm again. "You're freezing! Maybe you should stand by the fire."

"No, I'm fine." Xion swept over her eyes with the heel of her hand. "It's okay. Just... Really... Thank you for trusting me. It means so much."

Roxas watched her, chewing his lip. He couldn't bring himself to let her down. There was definitely no backing out of this one. He would have to do what she wanted, even if it meant breaking Xemnas' trust all over again.

* * *

The news had taken quite a while to reach the shore, but the disaster itself had happened early on.

Not even a week after the S. S. Monstro had set sail, a storm had struck its path and sent it down into the depths of the sea. When that news had finally reached Vexen's ear, it churned his stomach; he could have been on that boat. He could have seen that disaster take place first-hand, but he had been saved, and now he sought to thank the one who had saved him properly.

"I've heard you don't take help from other people," said Vexen, looking down at the boy on the church steps. "I've heard that you ignore the food and money that people leave for you. I've heard that you refuse to be invited into homes. However..." Vexen reached into his rucksack and plucked from it an apple and half a loaf of bread. He set them down on the child's lap, careful to avoid getting crumbs on his beloved, blank-paged tome. "I could think of no other way to thank you."

The boy looked down at the food warily, then back to Vexen, scrutinizing him with a blank expression. Then, carefully, ever so gently, he lifted his book from his lap and set it aside on the stone steps, freeing his arms to bring the apple to his mouth. He held eye-contact as he bit into the skin of the fruit, as if he were trying to get a message across, though Vexen was utterly lost as to what the message could be.

The man sighed and crouched in front of the child, resting his arms on his knees. "You are a very strange child, Corazza," he said softly. "You're mild-mannered, polite, quiet, and very intelligent. Beyond that, you seem to be capable of strange skills, not quite like my own, and yet perhaps not entirely dissimilar." The child only stared, continuing to munch on the offered fruit, not understanding a word of what was said to him. "You are strange, and you should know, I find myself drawn to the strange. Not only that, but it seems I owe you my life. That being said..." Vexen mentally rehearsed the words he'd requested for Geppetto to teach him one last time before daring to speak them aloud. "Corazza, _ti piacerebbe viaggiare con me_?"

The child paused, the apple freezing part-way to his mouth, which hung open in a surprised expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced down at the book beside him, then back to Vexen. Then, slowly, barely moving at all, the boy nodded.

"Good." Vexen smiled. "I am very glad to hear that.

* * *

The door seemed to stare at Roxas, seeming to admonish his decision. Honestly, he didn't blame it. He wasn't exactly all for the idea himself. He'd been avoiding the door for so long, subconsciously as well as consciously, that he'd grown strangely anxious about it.

Actually, to hell with 'anxious'. Roxas was terrified.

It was absolutely ridiculous. It _was _just a door, after all. A forest green, intricately carved door, but a mere door no less. What on earth could he possibly be afraid of? What could Xemnas be hiding in there? He was a private man, no doubt about that, but who was Roxas to judge? He had secrets of his own, and none of them were as dangerous as Xion seemed to imply that Xemnas' were. Still, her warning from the week prior rang out in Roxas' mind, the memory pure and clear as fine glass.

"I know Xemnas seems nice at first, but he isn't. You should go somewhere else. Anywhere else. But not here. It's not safe."

What could Xemnas have done to make her mistrust him so deeply? Was Roxas about to see for himself? Was he putting his life in danger by opening the door?

No. Surely not. Xion would never have made Roxas go alone if she was sending him into danger, and she had been so insistent on him going by himself.

Something he needed to see on his own... Something he might misunderstand if Xion went with him... It was eerie, how cryptic Xion got when she talked about Xemnas, as if she was some omnipotent god and she feared that leaking his secrets would call upon his wrath.

Why was she so afraid of him? Roxas supposed there was really only one way to find out. Willing his hands to be still, he reached out and grabbed the door by the handle. It was locked, of course. Right, as if that could keep him out.

The mechanics of the lock clicked into place at his will, and Roxas pulled the door open to reveal...

"What?"

A set of stairs.

Where Xemnas had claimed to be a study, there was a dusty room with empty shelves, a few discarded paintings that faced the walls, and dark stairwell that led down into the basement.

Xemnas...had lied to him.

Roxas clenched his teeth. That one undeniable fact was enough to make him believe everything that Xion had said. Just by opening that door, he had already proven that Xemnas was not the man he seemed. The fear and uncertainty that had plagued Roxas up to that point disappeared all at once. He no longer cared what Xemnas thought of him, or what the consequences of disobedience might be. Whatever was down those stairs was worth hiding, and Roxas aimed to find out what it was.

Throwing caution to the winds, Roxas stepped past the threshold and into the dusty room that was the would-be study. He descended the stairs, filled with purpose despite the darkness that swirled around him. The air surrounding his body dropped drastically in temperature as he strayed further and further from the warm fireplaces above.

Dark... Cold... Roxas felt as though he was creeping his way into the very manifestation of depression itself.

Why would anyone ever have a room like this? Why would Xemnas be hiding it?

The closer Roxas drew to the bottom of the stairs, the harder it was to ignore the quiet noises that crawled their way up the stone walls from below.

The first to reach his ear was a quiet, high-pitched clinking. It sounded as though some noble with a full coin purse was running in place.

The second sound was more difficult to describe. It was a sharp, shuddering sound, even softer than the clinking it accompanied. A weak hissing, like steam rising through a thin, metal pipe, but unevenly, staggering in its frequency.

Roxas reached the bottom of the stairs much sooner than he thought he would, and his boot met the floor with a jarring _smack_, one that sent a shock through Roxas' leg and up into his knee, causing a tremor in the joint like that of a ringing bell.

The room fell into dead silence.

No more quiet clinking.

No more hissing.

Roxas held his breath.

Then the clinking began anew, and this time, there was no doubt in Roxas' mind that the sound came from a set of chains. There was something alive down here, chained up, and it was moving. Dragging its chains across the floor. Moving right for him.

But then it stopped. Just as soon as the jingling had started again, it ended. A shudder rolled up Roxas' spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold. His heart pounded heavy in his chest, and Roxas couldn't help but think that surely the creature must have been able to hear it. It was so loud in his ears, in his head. He wanted to run, but he feared that even the slightest movement would incur the beast's wrath. Why had he come here? What on earth had willed him to do so?

Xion, he remembered. He'd promised Xion that he would see what was in Xemnas' study. He'd come so far already. How could he let her down now?

Roxas swallowed. He took a step.

The instant his foot hit the ground, a deafening, strident roar filled the room, as if the very air were being destroyed around him. A violent orange filled every corner of the room.

Fire.

The room had suddenly been filled with fire.

As soon as Roxas realized this, he covered his face with his arms in an attempt to guard himself against the wrath of the flames. For just an instant, he could have sworn he'd seen a pair of glowing, green eyes staring at him through the ribbons of blazing effulgence, but before he could get a good look, something, or rather, some_one_ appeared in front of his face to shield him from the fire, and blocked his vision.

"Go," said a deep voice, barely audible over the roar of the flames.

"Xemnas?"

"Did you not hear me? _Go_."

Roxas was hardly in a position to argue. He swallowed hard and whipped around, fleeing the room of fire and climbing the stairs as quickly as his frenetic legs could carry him. He wasn't even sure whether it was truly the fire he was running from or if it was his landlord, who seemed to have to power to appear out of thin air. Both seemed equally terrifying at the moment.

The light from the so-called study above led Roxas to the top of the flight and he made his way through that and into the foyer. From there, it was only a short wait before Xemnas followed, walking casually, flakes of niveous ash falling from his face.

"Did I not tell you to refrain from entering that room?" asked the man, his gold eyes narrowed in a cold glare. "Or was my reminder to you mere _hours _before I left the manor simply unclear?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have gone in if you told me the truth!" snapped Roxas. He was terrified, yes, but the fury from being betrayed was still stronger. "Why did you lie to me about your stupid 'study'? What _was _that thing? And why the _hell _are you keeping it chained up in your basement?!"

Xemnas strode closer to Roxas, uncomfortably close, peering down his nose at the boy. Roxas almost shrank from the intense glower, but forced himself to stand his ground. He needed answers. He _demanded _answers.

The glower transformed into an appraising glare that lingered for just a second too long before Xemnas lifted his head and simply walked past. "Come with me to the library," he said. "We have much to discuss."


	5. Silent as the Earth

**Chapter 5**

_Silent as the Earth_

Four weeks.

For four weeks, Roxas had been quiet around Xemnas. Contained. Obedient. Like a child waiting to be punished.

Not that day.

"I want answers," he growled, hands curled into fists. "I'm waiting.

Xemnas met his gaze, and it seemed to the boy that his golden eyes were so much more sinister than he could ever remember them being. Still, it wasn't enough to make Roxas back down. He had been living in a house for whatever that was for the past month. He had the right to know what it was.

"What you saw in the basement," began Xemnas, his speech an agonizing drone, "was a monster."

"A monster?" echoed Roxas, dubious. Now knowing for certain that Xemnas was capable of falsehood, it was difficult to swallow something as unrealistic and juvenile as a monster in the basement. It sounded like the sort of story his mother might have told him when he was five.

"Yes," said Xemnas, his words firm to defy Roxas' scrutiny. "An inhuman being. The beast you met in that basement is an immortal, wild, and senseless creature. Its only instinct is to burn anything and anyone it might encounter, its only drive to consume the world in its fire. It was my wish that you never encounter it, thus I resolved to keep its existence unknown. I might have succeeded, would that you had not disobeyed the few orders I gave to you."

"So why not just tell me?" demanded Roxas. "If it's so _dangerous_, then why didn't you warn me?"

"Would you have believed my words?" asked Xemnas. "Would you have not sought it out with the intent to ascertain the creature's existence with your own eyes?"

"I..." Roxas averted his gaze, his hands clenching ever tighter, driving his fingernails into his palms. He wasn't sure what he would have done. "Maybe, but at least I would have gone in knowing what I was up against. I wouldn't have gone down there thinking about nothing but how mad I was that you lied to me."

"I have my doubts," said Xemnas. "Regardless, even if that were true, the existence of that creature is something that should remain unknown. For hundreds of years, my family has guarded this beast, keeping it as far from the innocent as possibly. Not only the creature itself, but even rumors of its existence." He gazed down at the table in front of him, his fingers interlaced atop it. "Of course, monsters are difficult to contain. Thus, the creature has escaped on occasion, and each time upon escaping, it has run amok, setting the forest ablaze, sending its flames to the heavens. Surely you must have noticed. Even from your village, the fire should have been unmistakable."

"Wait..." Roxas narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, his gaze dropping to the floor. "The pillars of fire? They come from that thing?" The idea was surreal. After all of the rumors that floated around his village of the wrath of gods, the omens of death... All those cautionary tales told to children to keep them from wandering into the woods... All this time, the fire was brought about by a creature locked away in a wealthy hermit's basement? It was beguiling, but at the same time, it made sense. More than any of those rumors, anyway. After all, he'd seen the creature's fire conjured right in front of him, felt it with his hands. Even now, there was a superficial burn that reddened his skin and sent a jolt through his knuckles with every slightest motion of his fingers. That fire had easily filled the whole room in seconds; was it impossible to imagine it stretching up into the sky?

"Indeed," continued Xemnas with a sagely nod. "The fire does serve a purpose. It seems to frighten those who see it just enough to draw them far away from the danger at its source. Of course, should the villagers know the true reason behind the flames, they would no doubt underestimate the strength of the beast and attempt to end its reign of terror by facing the monster outright, and I fear the massacre effected by such a misguided attempt." He closed his eyes. "One cannot change the past, nor erase one's memories; therefore, there is nothing that can be done about your experience this afternoon." When his eyes opened again, they were narrowed dangerously. "However, for the sake of your own safety, the rule I set earlier remains in place. You are not to approach the basement door a second time. Is that clear?"

Roxas clenched his teeth. He did believe Xemnas, but only to a fault. Somehow, he knew that whatever the reason was that the basement was off-limits, it had nothing to do with his safety.

More secrets. That's all it was.

"Crystal." Roxas turned around and walked toward the library door, slamming it behind him as he reentered the foyer. He needed to hear Xion's side of the story. Immediately.

And she had better have prepared the truth.

* * *

Olympus was not quite Vexen's element. It was much, much too warm for him, and he was not a fan of sweating. Still, he couldn't help but experience some amount of vicarious joy through wayching the Corazza boy's silent awe in everything that they passed.

Yes, the Corazza boy. Much to Vexen's displeasure, Geppetto had been right; not only did Corazza not speak his language, but he didn't speak at all, which was frustrating to say the least. They were able to communicate in other ways—not writing, unfortunately; it seemed that though the child's first language was Italian, he wrote in a strange alphabet completely unfamiliar to Vexen—but none of the ways in which they could communicate had ever lended a use to Vexen when it came to learning Corazza's Christened name. It still evaded him, after all this time.

Still, at least they could gesture to each other, and the child did answer to the name Corazza, so correspondence was possible to a fault.

There were times, of course, when Vexen wished that a more sophisticated manner of communication were available between them, if only so that he could teach the boy about the statues he stared at, the plants he inspected, the figures on the pottery they perused, or the purposes of the temples that they passed, but for now, he supposed he could settle for calling his surname when he lingered in any one place for too long.

"Corazza!" Vexen turned and marched to where his ward had strayed. "Child, what has come over you? What on Earth could you have possibly gotten into?" He rested his hand on the boy's shoulder and followed his gaze to the wares at the merchant's stall. Immediately, he realized what had managed to get Corazza so distracted.

"What is the book you have there?" Vexen asked the merchant, trying Latin first.

The man at the stall looked to Vexen, then to the book. "It's a journal," he said. "Just a bound book with some blank pages. Nothing of much value, unless you can write. I'll give it to you for a florin."

"Then you have a sale," said Vexen, reaching into his coin purse for the payment. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his mouth when he saw the Corazza boy's wide eyes follow the exchange.

When Vexen had the book in his possession, he began turning it over in his hand, the other holding onto the child's. This so-called journal was almost an exact replica of the book that the boy already owned and cherished, save for the color. This one, unlike the golden one that the boy carried, was black with a silver leaf border around the edges.

Once they had distanced themselves from the busy market square, Vexen kneeled in front of the child and held out the book for him to take.

"Consider this a gift," said Vexen softly, more for his own benefit than the child's. "I couldn't possible ignore such a passionate desire to expand the mind. Go on."

The boy stared at the book for a long moment before tucking his golden volume under an arm and taking the new book in his hands. He tried to open it, but nearly dropped the first book in the attempt.

Vexen smiled and dropped his rucksack from his shoulder. "It's all right," he said, opening it. "I wouldn't steal from you. I promise."

The child stared at the rucksack for what must have been a full minute before he slowly, cautiously, took his golden book out from under his arm and set it inside.

Vexen closed the rucksack with a proud smile. That was quite the act of trust for that boy to allow him his most prized possession. To Vexen, the fact that he'd made that decision meant more than words could say.

The rest of the afternoon was spent underneath the shade of a fruit tree, the two of them reading in silence, the only interruption being when Vexen lifted his gaze to catch a glimpse of the child's tiny, calm smile as he read words that Vexen could only imagine.

One day, perhaps once they'd managed to learn a shared language, Vexen would learn the mystery of these blank books, but until then, it was nice just to see his small companion truly happy for even a brief moment, knowing that that happiness came about as a result of his actions.

Vexen had never considered himself particularly paternal, but perhaps, for this strange, stoic, sensible child, he could learn to be a father.

* * *

When Xion appeared at Roxas' door that night, as she always did, Roxas wasted no time. The second he opened the door, he pounced. He would regret his behavior later, there was no doubt about that, but for the moment, he wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries. He needed to know.

"I went," he snapped. "And when I got to the bottom, I almost got turned into a pile of ash. What gives, Xion?"

"Axel attacked you?" Xion's eyes widened. "But... That doesn't sound like him at all. He's so _gentle_. He would never—"

"Axel?" demanded Roxas. "_That _was _Axel_? You're friends with a _monster_?"

"Don't call him that!" screamed Xion, sending Roxas reeling. He'd never seen her so angry. Or angry at all, for that matter. "He's _not _a _monster_! How can you say that?!"

Roxas hesitated, the internal flame he'd been fanning all day subdued to a few burning embers in the wake of Xion's outburst. "Xemnas said—"

"And you still believe him?" pleaded Xion. "After everything?

Roxas' gaze flickered away and back. It was difficult to hold such an emotional gaze. "Well, he... I mean... The fire... That's not something people can do."

"So you believe in monsters that make fire, but not people?" snapped Xion. "Is that really any more likely, Roxas? Please. Just think about it. Just for a second."

Roxas stared deeply into Xion's fierce, blue eyes for a long, slow moment before taking a deep breath and deciding, again, that he had no real reason not to trust her. He closed his eyes, blocking everything out and forcing himself to concentrate. He thought about everything that Xemnas had told him, that the being kept below the house was a monster that his family had guarded for generations. The great fires had indeed been around for generations, and if it was indeed Axel who created those fires-and Roxas was inclined to believe that much; it made more sense than any of the theories from his village-then that was too long for any normal person to live.

Of course, then again, normal people couldn't exactly pull fire out of thin air, either. If Roxas was willing to accept the possibility that what he had seen down there was indeed human, he couldn't compare who or what that being was to "normal people".

And then he remembered.

That hissing sound... It had seemed so familiar, and Roxas had just remembered why. It wasn't an animalistic hiss, the kind he'd expect from a cat or a snake. It sounded uncontrollable, involuntary. It was exactly the sound he'd heard every night from Sora for weeks before he left, when he was feverish and freezing and could not stop shaking regardless of how many blankets he wrapped around himself.

That was the sound of someone shivering.

It was such a human sound. Roxas had seen animals shudder in the cold, of course, but it was never vocalized.

Could a monster have really made a sound like that?

Roxas opened his eyes, and he met Xion's steady gaze. "I believe you," he admitted. "I mean...I think I do. But... But if that really was a person down there..." Roxas shook his head. "I... I think I heard chains while I was down there, but if I really did, then... Then your friend's chained up in that dark basement by himself."

Xion wrapped her arms around herself. She looked as if some kind of physical pain was toiling away at her from the inside, as if she was going to be sick. "That's right," she said quietly. "I... I hate him. Xemnas. I hate everything he's done. I told you, Roxas... He's not a good person."

"But why?" demanded Roxas. "Why does he need to keep a person trapped down there?"

"I..." Xion closed her eyes. Her arms tightened around her. "I don't think I should be the one to tell you that."

Roxas watched her. He watched the way she held herself, the ache that her body language professed. She just seemed so sad, and that sadness was contagious. It felt to Roxas as though ice was building up inside of him, squeezing, and just when it felt like his heart was going to burst, Roxas decided he couldn't stand it anymore. He pushed past Xion and reached for his bedroom door.

"Fine," he said. "If you can't tell me, I'll have to ask Axel."

"Wait!" Xion reached for Roxas' free hand and gripped it between both of her own. "You already got in trouble with Xemnas once, didn't you? If he catches you again, then—"

"I don't care," countered Roxas. "I hate not knowing what's going on. I have to find out, and then, when I do, I'm going to put a stop to it. I don't care what Xemnas does to me. I'll help you and Axel both, even if it kills me."

Xion's hands slowly slackened around Roxas'. When he turned around, he saw that she wore a small, almost sad smile.

"Well... Okay," she said. "But you can't help us if you get caught." She released Roxas' hand altogether to unzip her coat, revealing a thin, black shirt that only covered her shoulders, a pair of ebony trousers, and two black boots tall enough to touch her knees. Xion folded her coat over her left arm and held it out for Roxas to take. "Put your hood up," she instructed. "He'll just think it's me."

Roxas reached for the coat and felt the leather under his thumb. A grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you," he said softly, and quickly slipped the coat on over the clothes he was already wearing. Once he'd covered his face with the hood as instructed, he looked down at himself. Immediately, he was struck with a problem.

"You can still tell it's me," said Roxas. "I'm not wearing gloves, and my shoes are the wrong color."

"Yeah," replied Xion, "but it's dark enough, even above the basement. He shouldn't notice. Just don't stick around long enough for Xemnas to notice the details."

Roxas nodded brusquely and pulled Xion's body into his arms. She was just as cold as he remembered her being the last time they'd hugged, but now wasn't the time for such observations. There were more important things to be said.

"Thank you, Xion. You're the best friend I could ever ask for."

The girl pulled back, holding onto Roxas' shoulders with a smile on her face. "I don't know," she said softly. "You haven't met Axel yet."

Roxas pulled Xion's hands down from his shoulders and gave them a last gentle squeeze. "I'm looking forward to it," he said.

When he left the room, it was as a man on a mission.

* * *

He wished he could have said that it was the sound of splintering wood that woke him.

"Vexen..."

Or at least the smell of smoke that had done it."

"_Su sveglia_!"

Or even the excruciating heat. Perhaps then he would not have felt so dependent on such a small child.

"Vexen, _destati_!"

But that was not the case.

Vexen woke up to the sound of a voice he had never heard before, despite having known the voice's owner for months by this point. He blinked blearily, squinting at the silhouette, at the blue eyes flickering in the firelight. Blue eyes wide with worry, with fear. Tiny hands shaking his shoulders. The orange lick of flames roaring in his peripheral.

The reality of their situation hit Vexen all at once. He shot upright, his heart pounding in his ears. The inn had become an inferno, and he hadn't even noticed, not until the child he kept had resorted to breaking his silence for the sake of his life. Now that he had noticed, his self-control had slackened, and ice slowly claimed his surroundings, clinging to the blankets and the walls, only to be melted by the heat seconds later.

Vexen, thinking quickly, rushed to the opposite side of the room. The far wall was almost completely consumed in fire, but his rucksack had managed to be unharmed, save for a few scorch marks. Vexen winced at the heat, but managed to ignore it long enough to grab his belongings and sling them over his shoulder.

When he returned to his ward, the child clenched fistfuls of his under tunic, abnormally clingy in the urgent situation. It was all Vexen could do to try to soothe the boy, to keep him from panicking, by keeping a hand on his head.

The bedroom door opened without incident, but one glance down the stairs showed Vexen that exiting the building itself was not going to be as easy. The smoke was so thick that he could hardly see the walls, and the fire ate away at anything it touched. Ashes fell from overhead, hinting that the structure was weakening.

Now, Vexen supposed, was a good a time as any.

He released the child's head, just for a moment, to free his hands, and thrust both forward, forming a tunnel of thick ice almost effortlessly, one that led them straight to the door. The child held tighter to his leg as he scattered snow on the floor of the tunnel for traction.

Vexen dropped his hands, satisfied with their escape route, and bent low to take the child into his arms. He was not a strong man, not by any means, but he did manage to hold the child close to his chest and carry him all of the way out of the house and into safety.

They moved away from the inn as quickly as they could to where the other escapees had gathered and they dropped to the dew-coated grass, both coughing to dispel the smoke from their lungs.

"A-Are you all right?" asked Vexen, forgetting, for a moment, that the child could not understand him.

The boy looked at him, still coughing into his arm, and sat up on his knees, proving that he was healthy enough to do at least that. His coughs were settling as well, slowly becoming more manageable.

Vexen shook his head. "That marks the second time you've saved my life," he said softly and leaned back, dropping the rucksack from his shoulder.

The child crawled forward and, in a show of affection that was rare for him, wrapped his arms tight around Vexen's chest and buried his face in the fabric of his under tunic.

"Shh," whispered Vexen, wrapping his arms around the boy and petting his hair, veiling his surprise at the unexpected gesture. "It's all right... We're safe now, Child."

"_I libri_..." whimpered the boy, shaking his head, audibly choking back tears. "_I-I libri...non erano cosi importanti..._"

Vexen managed to glean, from the languages that he could speak and their similarities to Italian, that the child had said something to do with "books" and "not important". It took him longer than he wanted to admit to understand.

"Ah," whispered Vexen. "Of course... That was how your parents died, wasn't it?" He shook his head and gently rubbed his ward's back. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "I am perfectly fine, and so are you. My decision to waste time by saving the books held no consequences. There is nothing to fear."

The child gave no sign that he understood, but then, Vexen hadn't expected him to.

"It is nice to finally hear you speak," he said softly, "even if the circumstances surrounding the event are less than favorable. I don't suppose this means I finally get to learn your name, do I?"

The child stayed silent.

Vexen sighed and returned to rubbing circles into the boy's back. He supposed he could wait a little longer.

* * *

The forest green door now was just as intimidating as it had been then, if not more so, but this time, Roxas didn't waste any time with a staring contest. He didn't _have _any time to waste. He pushed through, closing the door behind himself, and, for the second time that day, Roxas descended into the dark basement. He took every step with care this time, making sure that he didn't make the same mistake that he had before, and he made a point of counting the steps in case of future visits.

Of which, if he took what Xion said to be true, there would be many.

Twenty-six, twenty-seven... The same sounds he'd heard before rose through the stairwell. This time, however, he knew what they were, and knowing broke his heart. That shivering... It was so cold in the basement. The chill even slithered up the sleeves of Xion's coat, making the hair on his arms stand on end. The very idea of staying in such a cold room every single winter since the fires began... Roxas' stomach churned at the thought.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine... His steps slowed. He knew he was approaching the bottom.

Thirty, thirty-o—

No, just thirty. That had been the final step.

Roxas stood in place, his arms wrapped tight around his middle to ward against the cold. The cold...and the pain. Standing here, mere meters away from the sound of the shivering... It hurt. It was on par with the way Roxas felt when he saw Sora cry. He felt like the pain had somehow seeped into him and become his own. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. Just imagining what Axel must have gone through was almost more than he could bear.

But that was part of why he was here, wasn't it? To make things more bearable.

Roxas took a deep breath to steel himself and began to walk toward the sound of the shivering.

When the sound stopped, however, so did he.

Again, the room filled with firelight, but not like it had before. The glow was not brilliant, like a house fire, but faint, like a lantern. It spread outward from a tiny flame that had sparked to life from where the shivering had been coming from only moments before. Roxas' eyes were drawn to it immediately; the flickering lumescence would have been impossible to miss in a room so dark.

The tiny fire floated like a will-o-the-wisp above the bare hand of its conjurer. The wrist connected to that hand was thin, bony, and disappeared past a set of manacles and into a black, leather sleeve. Roxas' eyes followed the sleeve like a track, allowing it to guide his gaze over a pointy elbow, a set of broad shoulders, and up a strong neck to a face that Roxas would _never _have been able to call monstrous.

The man's hair, of course, caught his attention almost immediately. It would have caught anyone's; unless it was a trick of the light, his hair appeared to be red. Not ginger, but a brilliant crimson that flared out behind him as if it belonged to a wary cat.

Then there were the markings.

Underneath each of the man's eyes was an inverted teardrop shape that seemed to be there solely to draw attention to what was above them. They weren't like anything Roxas had ever seen. Still, it took more than a couple of strange markings for a person to be called a monster.

And even if Roxas had any doubt in Axel's humanity left to eradicate, the next feature he noticed would have done it easily.

Axel's eyes were sharp, narrow, and exotic. They tilted up at the outer corners with a twist that might have appeared almost feminine on anyone else, but somehow, on Axel, it just seemed charming, almost seductive. The bottle-green gleeds that were his irises—the ones he recognized as being the same eyes he'd seen through the fire before—perfectly complimented his scarlet hair, even through the light pollution of the flames, and the color wasn't the only contrast. Though Axel's hair was sharp and stiff like a battalion of blood-stained blades, his eyes were soft. Gentle. Roxas immediately understood what Xion meant; there was no malice in those eyes. There was certainly some sort of fire hidden in them somewhere, but it was hidden under layer upon layer of melancholy and apathy and veiled kindness. Still, there was definitely a spark. Roxas could feel it ignite something in his chest, crackling down his arms and across his knuckles like a sort of positive panic. Something like frisson.

"You're not Xion," said Axel, his voice warm and smooth like freshly brewed tea, comforting despite the threatening tone. He climbed to his feet, and the strength of his flame rose with him. "You have five seconds to convince me I can trust you. Four—"

"I'm a friend of Xion's!" said Roxas, hastily tugging down his hood to make himself seem less dangerous. He had no idea what Axel had planned for the fire that had started to swirl in his hand, and he had no desire to find out.

"Xion doesn't make friends," was Axel's rebuttal. "Three—"

"What about you?" asked Roxas, frantically searching for anything that would, if nothing else, buy him time. "You're Xion's friend, aren't you?"

"Xion and I met a long time ago," said Axel. "She's not the same person she was then. Two..."

Roxas looked around the room in a panic, as if something inside of it held the answer he was looking for.

"One..."

_That's it!_ The room didn't hold the answer; his belt did! At the last second, Roxas unzipped his coat and reached into the pocket at his belt. He wrapped his fingers around something with sharp edges that bit into his skin and yanked it free from the leather pouch. He stretched out his hand and uncurled his fingers, revealing a long, thin seashell, pink at its tip with a gradient to a pearly off-white the closer it got to the base.

This, thankfully, seemed to give Axel pause. He narrowed his eyes, and the flame in his hand shrank back to its original size. "Give it here, Kid."

Resisting the urge to grumble about being called a "kid", Roxas strode forward, his hand still open. Once he had grown close enough, Axel snatched the shell from his palm and held it up to inspect it in the firelight.

"This is a Thalassa shell," he said in almost a murmur. "They only come from Destiny Islands." His gaze shifted in Roxas' direction. "Where did you get this?"

"Xion gave it to me," explained Roxas. "About a month ago. Back when we first met."

"She only has a few of these," said Axel. "Vexen gave them to her a long, long time ago. They're precious to her. She wouldn't give them away to just anyone."

"I'm not just anyone," said Roxas. "I'm her friend. I already told you that."

Axel's gaze hardened. "You could have stolen it."

"Why would I steal a seashell?" asked Roxas. "And even if I did, how would I know it was important if I wasn't friends with Xion?"

"Xemnas could have told you," accused Axel, his voice low.

"Don't group me up with him," growled Roxas. "He's a liar. He told me you were a monster."

Axel gave a mirthless chuckle and returned the shell to Roxas' hand, dropping it from a few inches above. "There's no denying he's a liar, but 'monster's' true enough."

"You're friends with Xion." Roxas gripped the shell protectively in his hand, his gaze locked onto Axel's. "There's no way you could be a monster."

"You think so, huh?" asked Axel. "Get her to take her gloves off for you one of these days. Then you'll see the truth for yourself."

Roxas slipped the shell back into his pocket and zipped up his coat. "She still likes you, so if you burned her or something, it had to have been an accident, right?" He glanced at his own hands. Even in the dim light, he could still see the faint pink splotches where Axel's flames had licked his fingers. He lifted his head, tearing his gaze away. "Accidents don't make you a...monster." He paused, concerned for the way Axel's eyes had filled with regret.

"I did that to you, right?" he asked. "Look, Kid—"

"You don't have to apologize," said Roxas, an encouraging smile on his face. "But if you told me why you did it, I'd listen."

Axel sighed and took a step back to lean against the cold, stone wall. He crossed his arms, moving the fire in his hand to a tiny flame on the end of his pointed index finger, as if it were the wick of a candle. It flickered strangely, and after a beat, Roxas realized why that was. Axel might have been able to control it to a fault, but he was still shivering here and there. Roxas curbed the overly-familiar desire to take his coat off and wrap it around Axel's shoulders, if only because he didn't want to put Axel back on the defensive by approaching him unbidden.

"Xemnas only comes down here for two reasons," explained Axel, unaware of Roxas' internal conflict. "He only needs fire from me every few months, so I knew that wasn't it."

Roxas opened his mouth to ask what the other reason would have been, but thought better of it. Again, he had no desire to put Axel on the defensive, and he was sure that prying would do just that. Instead, he decided to ask, "How did you know I wasn't Xion?"

"You don't wear heels," said Axel, uncrossing his arms to point at his temple. "Xion clicks.

Roxas frowned at his own feet. That could mean trouble if Xemnas owned the same attention to detail that Axel had.

"So why are you here, Kid?" asked the man, his arms returning to his chest. "You got a death wish or something?"

"My name is Roxas," the boy countered, annoyed. "And I'm here because I want to help."

"Help?" Axel raised one thin eyebrow. "Are you serious? You look like you can barely help yourself. Anyway, that wasn't what I was asking." He dropped one arm to his side again, the other moving his flame back to his palm, allowing it to grow to lantern size again. "Do yourself a favor, Kid— Sorry," Axel was quick to amend, catching the boy's glare, "_'Roxas_.' You seem like a nice enough kid, so I'm gonna give you a piece of advice." He narrowed his eyes. "Just get out while you still can. You're not the first person Xemnas decided to 'help', and believe me when I say that none of those stories had happy endings."

"I don't care," insisted Roxas. "I'm not leaving without Xion or you."

Axel laughed tersely. "What are you, some kind of hero?" A violent quiver seized his body, and that was when Roxas couldn't take it anymore. The shaking reminded him too much of Sora.

"How long have you been cold?" he asked.

Axel narrowed his eyes skeptically. "What?"

"I'm asking you when was the last you were warm."

Again, Axel laughed that same unfeeling chortle. "It's been a while."

Roxas moved forward, and Axel backed himself into a corner, scraping his chains across the stone floor. The fire in his hand disappeared, and the room became pitch black. "What're you—"

"I'm Xion's friend, remember?" asked Roxas. "I won't hurt you. Just trust me."

Once he'd grown close enough, Roxas reached through the darkness, seeking Axel's arms. The man flinched under his touch. "Don't worry," he soothed, the same way he might to a frightened child. His hands slid down Axel's arms. When he hit the manacles at the end of the man's sleeves, he let his fingers stroke the cool metal of the manacles, luxuriating in the way it felt against his burned fingertips for just a brief moment before he moved down to Axel's hands and grasped them in his own.

It was a strange sensation. Not only because the only hands he'd touched in the past month were Xion's, which were always covered in gloves, but because of the temperature. It certainly wasn't what Roxas was expecting, that was for sure. Though Axel's fingers were ice cold, his palms were surprisingly warm, almost hot enough to burn.

"Your hands are warm," said Axel, seeming to echo Roxas' thoughts.

"I was going to say the same thing," said the boy. "Are you sure I'm not just making you colder? I mean, that's sort of the opposite of what I want to do, so..."

"Nah," said Axel. Roxas could almost hear the smirk. "You're a hell of a lot warmer than the air. Besides, I give off too much heat. Part of the whole fire gig, you know? You're sort of...helping me keep some of it."

"Oh," Roxas frowned thoughtfully. "Why don't you warm yourself up with your fire?"

Axel chuckled. This time, there was actually some heart in it. "That's like asking why you don't keep your house warm by moving one of the fireplaces outside. It doesn't just come from nowhere, you know."

"So you're really just this cold all the time?"

"It's not that bad in the summer." The tiniest tug on Axel's hands told Roxas that he was shrugging. "It's still kind of cold, though, bein' underground and all."

Roxas' grip tightened. "That's why I want to help you," he said quietly. "If you'd just let me try..."

"What're _you _gonna do?" asked Axel.

"Well..." Roxas slid his hands toward Axel's wrists. "For starters..."

Before Roxas could continue, one of Axel's hands slipped out of his own and clapped over his mouth. At first, Roxas was merely startled, but that surprise slowly turned to real fear when he noticed another sound mixing in with their nervous breathing.

Footsteps. Soft ones. No heels.

Axel's chains hit him hard in the chest, almost knocking the wind out of him, as he reached out to pull Roxas' hood over his face, not leaving any time for protest. His hands gripped Roxas' shoulders.

"Get out of here," he said in a frantic whisper above Roxas' left shoulder. "Just run past him. If you're fast enough, he'll just think you're Xion."

"But—" Roxas tried to object, just as quiet. If Axel had only attacked him earlier because he thought that Xemnas was going to do something terrible to him, what did it mean now that Xemnas was really coming downstairs? What was going to happen? How could Roxas just leave?

"You're not doing me any favors by staying," growled Axel, as if reading Roxas' thoughts. "Just get going!"

Roxas felt utterly hopeless, but he knew, as much as he wanted to stay, that Axel was right. If Xemnas found out that he was there, that probably wouldn't end well for either of them, so, clenching his teeth, Roxas pulled back and made a break for the stairs. His arm brushed against Xemnas' as he ran, but he didn't let that slow him down. He kept running until he finally escaped into the foyer.

He kept his hood up until he was safely inside his own bedroom again. By the time he tugged it down, tears were already rolling down his cheeks. He braced his back against his closed bedroom door and slid down to the floor, rubbing his face dry.

Xion was right. Axel might have been a little rough around the edges, but he was every bit as sweet and gentle as she'd said. Roxas didn't want to think about what Xemnas might be doing to him. Even after only that brief meeting, the idea of Axel suffering any sort of pain was more than Roxas could bear.


	6. Disillusioned

**Chapter 6**

_Disillusioned_

Vexen sat at his desk, his arms crossed over the desktop, his eyes watching the two children sitting on the rug in front of him as they enjoyed their ice cream. His small, cobbled-together family and his studies were all that he had in the world, and for the past few weeks, he'd been worried that the former had been put in danger.

"I know you've noticed," said Zexion, the bright orphan he'd found wandering a city a decade prior. Vexen had been charmed from the start by the boy's intelligence and quiet, most unchildlike behavior. It was that intelligence that had influenced Vexen to take the child under his wing, and it that same intelligence that convinced Vexen to speak to the boy about the obvious threat.

"I have," admitted Vexen, his voice matching Zexion's low tone to spare the children their worries. "And it surprises me very little to learn that you have as well."

Zexion gripped his shoulder conspiratorially. "Do you suppose it's Xemnas?"

His acid green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Of our possible suspects, he is the most likely. Of course, we must consider our own bias. It is only natural that we should suspect the newest addition to our household."

Zexion nodded slowly in Vexen's peripheral. "Of course."

The elder frowned. There was something about the way he'd said that. "Zexion, have you encountered something in one of your tomes?"

"It would be irresponsible of me to share that information," said the boy. "The kitchen recipes, architectural advances, and certain stories are the most that I can provide. Surely you have learned that much by now."

"Of course," confirmed Vexen. "But you can guide others to a fault. I have seen you do as much. On that note, would you consider it certain that our traitor is, in fact, Xemnas?"

"Certain, no," admitted Zexion. "Only likely."

"Then we have no choice but to wait," said Vexen, his expression darkening. "At the risk of another of our number falling."

"We should prepare ourselves in the meantime," said Zexion. "Plan a defensive strategy, in case our traitor plans to strike each of us down. You, myself, and the children are the least likely to be our attacker, of course, but Xion and Riku should be kept out of this and you and I would not make a very strong defense. The next least likely, I believe, are Eraqus, for his moral fiber, and—"

The door burst open, and a crimson-haired individual stood in the doorway. He greeted the children on the rug eagerly, a playful smile on his face. Riku shyly kept to himself on the rug, but Xion jumped to her feet and rushed into the man's arms.

Vexen and Zexion exchanged glances.

"Axel."

* * *

Roxas thanked whatever deity had blessed him with enough willpower to keep himself from running back into the basement before he reached his bedroom. Without that blessing, there was no way Roxas would have been able to withstand every agonizing moment spent wondering whether Axel was okay, what Xemnas was doing, why he was doing it, or how many times it must have happened for Axel to rush him out the way that he had.

What bothered Roxas the most was that he had run from the exact reason why he had gone into the basement in the first place. Hadn't he gone down there to ask Axel why he was being kept there? For him to bolt exactly when that question was about to be answered was shameful at best, and absolutely cowardly at worst. Roxas paused in his pacing to kick his door in frustration. Now he would have to wait. That's all he could do. He would wait for the next possible moment for him to go downstairs and ask without risking the chance of being caught by Xemnas.

And wait he did.

Roxas spent hours in his room, pacing back and forth between his bedroom door and the foot of his bed. It had begun to snow at one point late in the morning, just before noon, and it continued well into the day. By the time night had fallen, however, it had stopped, and silvery-blue moonlight reflected off of the still, peaceful sastruga that had built up outside over the course of the day. It poured in through Roxas' window, bathing the floor in its glow.

He pressed his burnt fingers against the cool glass pane, condensation spreading outward from where his hand met the window, casting a perfect impression.

Enough was enough. Xemnas had to have returned to his room by this point, surely, and even if he hadn't, Roxas couldn't bear the thought of spending another restless moment in this claustrophobic room.

Having hidden his face beneath Xion's hood yet again, Roxas left his bedroom and took to the basement. It was a struggle to keep his footfalls quiet, urgent as they were, but he did the best that he could.

Roxas pushed past the forest green door and locked it behind him before descending into the dungeon below.

Fifteen, sixteen... Had it always smelled so moldy down here, or had the stress simply strengthened his senses?

Twenty-one, twenty-two... It seemed colder than before, but that was just because of the snow, surely.

Twenty-six, twenty-seven... What would Roxas do if Axel really wasn't okay? What _could _he do?

"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty." Roxas took the last step onto the solid stone floor, but that was where he stopped, frozen to the spot, one leg still on the bottom stair.

He... He _was _going to be okay, wasn't he?

"Axel?" Despite Roxas' efforts to hide it, the crack of his voice proved how nervous he truly was. The evidence was there, plain as day.

What wasn't there was Axel's response.

Well... Maybe he was asleep.

Ignoring the nagging in the back of Roxas' mind that Axel must have had as much of a problem with insomnia as he and Xion did, Roxas called out again, this time louder. "Axel?"

He waited.

And he waited.

The room stayed as silent as the metaphorical grave. No shivering. No rattling chains. The only sound Roxas recognized was his own sharp, anxious breathing. He forced himself to take one long, deep breath with the hopes that it would calm him. It didn't.

With more willpower than ever should have been necessary, Roxas began to walk forward. His feet felt heavy. With every footstep, Roxas compared himself to some sort of rusted mechanism, something his neighbor Mr. Thatch might have worked with back in Sublustris. His knees were scraping hinges of iron, his feat lead weights. Roxas felt ridiculous. He'd spent all day pacing in his room, desperate to find out what had happened, and now that he was so close to an answer, he was terrified of what that answer might be.

"Axel," he tried one last time, his voice quiet, hesitant, rasping with fear. Roxas kicked something with the heavy feet that he'd been dragging across the stone floor. It rattled ominously.

Again, he froze.

Chains. That was the sound of chain links clattering against one another. Axel... He'd been shackled.

And shackles...had locks.

Swallowing hard, Roxas dropped to the floor, resting one knee against the cold stone to keep him balanced. It was like ice.

_Don't think about that. Don't think about that right now._

Experimentally, he reached out, his fingertips scanning the unseen floor below him for the chains he'd just kicked. Painfully cold metal against his bare skin sent goosebumps crawling up Roxas' arms, but he didn't flinch away from it. He wrapped his hands tight around the links, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

Did he really want to know what he would find on the other side of this chain?

He closed his eyes. Of course he did. He needed to know.

Roxas squeezed the chain, and when he did, it sent a pulse of blue light shooting down the iron, conducting itself from link to icy link. He opened his eyes to watch as the dim glow rolled down the line, following the long chain as it zig-zagged and spiraled around the room. It coiled over itself, looped, and knotted for what seemed like an eternity until it finally, finally reached the end of the line.

Refracted light bounced off of something glittering and translucent, magnifying itself and spreading bright enough to illuminate the entire room for the briefest of moments. It faded as quickly as it had appeared, but not before showing Roxas what he needed to see.

It felt as though an anvil had been dropped into Roxas' chest, pressing into his stomach and weighing down his legs. He understood now just why Axel had seemed so terrified. Anyone would have been.

Being encased in ice was the stuff of nightmares to be sure.

At least, it seemed to be ice. It hadn't seemed transparent enough to be glass, and when Roxas finally gathered enough courage to weakly crawl toward the glittering mound, he found it to be freezing to the touch.

Axel couldn't be dead, right? The very idea shook Roxas to the core. They'd only spoken less than twenty-four hours prior. The possibility of Axel being there one moment and gone the next was enough to numb Roxas' senses. The thought that he might have just caught a glimpse of a corpse was ever worse. It wouldn't have been the first time Roxas had seen a lifeless body-he had helped to bury his mother, after all-but it was one thing to mourn a loved one during a ceremony and something else entirely to happen upon the victim of what seemed to be a murder.

But... But no. Roxas shook the fear from his mind. He was getting ahead of himself. Axel had seemed scared, but scared in a way that made Roxas feel as though he knew what was coming, as if he'd experienced it before.

Although...it was still entirely possible that Roxas was being optimistic.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, thinking hard.

Ice. It was just ice. Ice could be broken. Roxas had done it countless times before. He'd done it when he was trying to water livestock, he'd done it to snap icicles off of the roof of his house to use as toy swords when he was a child... And if Roxas could break the ice, he could see for himself whether Axel was breathing.

His hands dropped to his lap. Right. It was the best idea he had. Forcing himself to take another deep breath, Roxas grabbed the chain and climbed to his feet. It was heavy in his hands. Strong. A lot stronger than his fists, that was for sure. It had nearly knocked the wind out of him the night before when Axel had hit him by accident. Hitting something on purpose was bound to pack one hell of a punch.

Roxas bunched the chain in his hands, doubling it in his grip to make a loop. He spun that loop around like a slingshot, slowly building up speed and momentum. The chain whistled each time it flew past his ear.

On the backswing of one rotation, Roxas took a step forward and cracked the chain like a whip.

There was a crashing noise, one that made Roxas wince and second-guess his ice-breaking method. He might break more than bone, or worse, he might be discovered.

Discarding that thought as well as the chain, he rushed forward, hands groping through the darkness, trying to locate Axel's frozen body.

At first, all Roxas found was ice, but he continued to slide his fingers across the frozen surface until...

That was an arm.

Roxas gripped the arm tight in his hands. The biceps beneath the surface felt strong, but more than that, they felt warm, damp, as if the ice had been melting around him.

Axel was giving off heat.

Afraid to hope, reminding himself that Axel wasn't exactly a normal person and that he might be capable of producing heat even in death, Roxas began to pry at the ice. He forced his fingers underneath and gripped the sharp edges, breaking off whatever he could piece by agonizing piece until he'd managed to expose Axel's chest. Ignoring the dampness from Axel's coat that made his face sting in the cool air, he leaned in close and pressed his ear to Axel's sternum.

The first thing that he noticed was the slight rise and fall of Axel's chest, expanding with every weak breath that he took, and then...

Th-Thump...

Roxas swallowed. A heartbeat. Definitely alive, then.

"All right..." He took a step back and sucked in a breath, rubbing his hands together to will away the pain and cold he'd inflicted on himself by prying at the ice. "Hold on," he said. "You'll be out of there in no time."

Gritting his teeth, Roxas gripped another sharp corner of the ice. He had a lot of work to do.

* * *

Perhaps it was bad luck or perhaps it was simply because of the places they'd visited, but it wasn't until they reached Agrabah that Corazza finally met someone his own age.

They'd been pursuing the marketplace, searching for something to cook for their dinner that night, when the sound of music reached their ears. To Vexen, it was simply background noise, but the child's interest had been piqued, and he'd managed to wander off while Vexen was in the middle of making his purchase of fish.

Once he was sure that he wouldn't have his hands cut off, Vexen hurried away from the stall after his young ward, only to find him conversing with an excitable young musician. Or, rather, listening intently while the other boy seemed to be rattling off his life story in perfect English.

"—always finding stuff. You wouldn't _believe _what people throw away. That's how I got this thing. I don't even know what it's called, but it's cool, and some old lady was just gonna throw it away because it was old and worn out, but I got her to give it to me instead. One fresh coat of blue paint later, and _bam_, look at it now— Oh, hey, is that your dad?"

When the stranger pointed over the child's shoulder, the boy turned his head back to look at Vexen, whose mouth was twitching with amusement. It was strange; Vexen would have never predicted that Corazza could be such an extrovert. Not when he was so studious. Perhaps he was just excited about the music, or about seeing a boy his own age, or perhaps a combination of the two.

"Are you enjoying your conversation with someone who can't understand you?" asked Vexen of the young musician.

The boy balancing his instrument on his lap grinned sheepishly. "I was kinda wondering why he wasn't responding. That's okay, though. He was still a good listener. Man, you two really look alike."

"Oh, really?" questioned Vexen, raising an eyebrow. "Odd, considering we aren't related by blood."

"Huh. Maybe you just rubbed off on him or something. Is he an orphan?"

"Unfortunately."

"Aw." The musician turned his grin back to the child, who was still staring at him intently. "Me, too. Sucks, right? But it's okay as long as you have someone looking out for you."

Vexen peered down at the street musician curiously. What a strange choice for Corazza to become fixated on. "What is your name, boy?"

"Demyx," said the stranger brightly.

"Well then, Demyx," said Vexen almost warmly, or at least as close as he could get, "perhaps we will make a point of coming here once Corazza has learned proper English. He does seem to be fond of you."

"That'd be awesome," said Demyx, turning his gaze on the child again. "That's your name, huh? Corazza?"

The child dropped his gaze, apparently suddenly interested on the cover of the book in his lap. This entire interaction was odd. Vexen had never seen the child so shy. Quiet, yes, but never nervous like this.

"Well, the sun is soon to reach the horizon. It was a pleasure meeting you, Demyx, but we really should be—"

"Z-Zexion."

Vexen raised his eyebrows.

Demyx lowered his, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Wha...?"

"_Non_ _Corazza_," said the child, still staring at his lap. "_Il mio nome è Zexion_."

"Oh!" Comprehension dawned on Demyx's features. "It's your name!" He grinned brightly, perhaps proud of himself for decoding Zexion's cryptic, foreign words. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Zexion..." He pointed to his own chest. "...Demyx!"

"Demyx..." repeated Zexion, the smallest of rare smiles tugging at his lips. He stood up, finally, it seemed, ready to leave. When he took Vexen's hand, his eyes were still watching the street musician. "Bene. Ciao, Demyx."

"See ya, Zexion! And, uh..."

"Vexen," said the man, recognizing his prompt.

"Right," said Demyx. "If you're still around Agrabah tomorrow, I'll be right here. Feel free to stop by!"

"Of course," said Vexen. "Take care, boy."

Once they were out of earshot, Vexen couldn't help but ask, "Zexion, is it? Why did you tell him, but not me, even after so many months?"

The child remained silent, not understanding his words, or perhaps choosing not to.

Vexen shook his head. It was for reasons like this that he had never originally wanted to become a father. Children were impossible to comprehend.

* * *

_Crash_!

Roxas spread his arms open wide to catch Axel's collapsing body as the last bit of ice supporting it cracked and fell away. He was really heavy, and Roxas was so tired that he could barely support his own weight as it was, but somehow, he managed. He held Axel close to his chest and dropped to his knees, panting with effort. One of his hands slid into Axel's hair, supporting his head as he carefully leaned down to set him on the stone floor. He bent lower still to check Axel's breathing. It was shallow, but thankfully steady. Roxas' hand, bitten from the cold and bruised by the ice and the chain, found its way to Axel's cheek. It was warm. Or, at least, warmer than Roxas' hand, which wasn't saying much. Roxas hesitated briefly before deciding that he didn't have time to be shy and pressed his cheek to Axel's.

Yeah, his face was definitely cold.

Roxas turned toward the stairs—or at least where he thought he remembered them being, considering the pitch black of the basement—and then back to Axel. Should he stay, chancing Xemnas' wrath? Or should he leave Axel to fend for himself? Would he be able to warm himself up? Or should Roxas try to warm him up personally? He wasn't sure. How _could _he be sure? Too much of this was unpredictable. He had no idea how Axel's body worked, how human it was, how the fire changed him. Not to mention that ice... Roxas wasn't even sure how Xemnas had managed to freeze Axel in the first place.

Roxas worried his lip, an unbidden whimper rising at the back of his throat as he tried to make a decision, to decide what was best for Axel while still considering the consequences he might face as well. Hesitantly, tiredly, he unzipped Xion's coat and shrugged it from his shoulders, letting it flop against the floor behind him. Still warm, the coat was thrown over Axel's body in the hopes that it would be able to keep him safe in Roxas' absence.

Satisfied, but exhausted, Roxas climbed to his feet, and hardly more than a step had been taken before the light-headedness began to creep in. The second footstep barely even reached Roxas' ears; everything sounded as though it were underwater.

A third step might have been taken, but it was impossible to tell for certain; Roxas was out cold before he hit the floor.

* * *

Riku had only managed to take a single step into the house before he felt his hair start to stand on end. His instincts were telling him that something was amiss, and he had a vague feeling he knew exactly what it was.

Drawing his sword from the sheath on his belt, Riku crept toward Sora's room, ready to strike at a moment's notice, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every wall for the first sign of a threat.

That first sign came to him when he'd stepped beyond Sora's bedroom door.

As he'd predicted, there was someone standing over Sora's bed, his brow creased with thought, a contemplative fist resting under his bottom lip. His violet eyes were gentle, but narrowed, as if he was trying to understand something important.

Riku was more familiar than he wanted to admit with people like this. He knew exactly what he was looking at from the second he'd walked in. He knew exactly who this boy was.

"I'm giving you ten seconds to get away from Sora," he warned, and he slid into an offensive stance, his back straightening, his right arm lifting his sword above his head.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Riku," dismissed the boy, sounding somewhere between bored and exasperated. It seemed he couldn't even be bothered to take his gaze away from Sora, even to spare a glance at the weapon raised against him. "I'm not going to take him. He's not _that _sick. Not anymore, at least. Your precious boy-toy isn't going anywhere for now."

"Then why are you here?" demanded Riku, still on high alert. "And why are you looking at him like that?"

"Just trying to figure out why someone so _highly revered_ among the Ankou would be so preoccupied with someone so dull and ordinary," sighed the boy. "I really don't understand you at all."

Deciding at last that this boy was not an immediate threat, Riku lowered his weapon. He sheathed it, but kept his hand on the hilt, still prepared to defend his sleeping friend if he deemed it necessary. "You won't be able to see that just by watching him sleep." He crossed the room with long, purposeful strides to guard Sora's bedside. "And that doesn't explain why you're here. I know you didn't come here to watch my friend sleep."

"No, you're right about that." Finally, the boy lifted his head. He turned his eyes on Riku and pulled his lips into a small, hollow smirk. "How was your caper into the forest?"

Riku narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why would the Ankou be interested in that?"

"Don't act so affronted," sighed the Ankou himself, resting his hands on his waist. "We like you, remember? I'm trying to do you a favor."

"A favor?" Riku frowned. What kind of favor could possibly involve the forest— "Do you know where Roxas is?"

"Of course I do." The boy rolled his eyes. "I'm the Ankou. Try to keep up, Riku. But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why?" snapped Riku. "Stop beating around the bush and tell me why you're here already."

"Don't you have any manners at all?" sighed the Ankou. "We haven't even introduced ourselves."

"You already know my name," said Riku.

"But you don't know mine," retaliated the boy. "Hi, Riku. It's an honor to meet you. I'm this year's Ankou. My name is Joshua. I like shio ramen and the color pink."

"Great," grumbled Riku. "Now _why are you here_?"

"Fine, eager beaver." Joshua rolled his eyes. "I'll cut to the chase, then. There's someone who lives in the forest, someone who is...shall we say morally deprived? Unfortunately for you, he's also very powerful and suffers from delusions of grandeur. That is, he believes that the entire forest and everything in it belongs to him, which means, as far as he's concerned, you've been trespassing."

"So what you're saying is that he's not happy with me."

"Bravo, Riku. Did you figure that out all on your own?"

"So what?" Riku crossed his arms. "It's not like he can kill me. I still have forty years before my blessing passes."

"Oh, Riku..." purred Joshua. "Can you really think of nothing valuable to you other than your life? Because I can, even if I still can't figure out _why _he's of such value to you."

Riku's bright, aquamarine eyes darted to the boy fast asleep on the bed, then back again. "You mean— How would he know to target Sora?"

"I told you," said Joshua. "He's powerful. Practically omnipotent. He's managed to stay alive for centuries because even we Ankou are no match for him. No one can get close enough to coax his soul from his body. The closest we've ever come was long ago, when he was very old and frail, but even then, his soul was strong enough to free itself from the Ankou's grip, and he found a new, younger body to escape into. That Ankou had no choice but to escort the soul belonging to that body instead.

"Unfortunately..." Joshua rested his hands in his belt, the thumbs resting overtop it while his fingers slid underneath. "It...wasn't long after that before he found a way to preserve that body. He's not aging, so we can't rely on the same tactic of just waiting for him to grow old. For all intents and purposes, that man is immortal."

"So what do I do?" asked Riku. "I can't just give up. Not unless Roxas left the forest." He frowned. "_Did_—"

"Unfortunately, no," answered Joshua. "He's still in that forest."

Riku furrowed his brow. "Is he safe?"

"Well, he's not going to die from any injuries he's sustained since leaving the forest if that's what you're asking," said Joshua, "but seeing as he's staying _in the house_ of the person I just told you about—"

"He's _what_?!"

"I would assume out of ignorance," explained Joshua. "Or perhaps desperation."

Riku groaned and sat at the edge of Sora's bed, resting his head in his hands. "So what you're saying is there's no way of helping Roxas without putting Sora in danger."

"Now you're getting it." Joshua smirked and put his shoulders back. "Bravo again, Riku. See, I knew you were bright enough to figure it out."

Riku lifted his head, his jaw set. "So what do I do?"

"Well, if you're looking for my advice, I'd say to call Roxas a lost cause and move on. Quit while you're ahead." Joshua shrugged, nonchalant. "Better to lose one friend than to, right? But, of course, that's only my advice. Knowing your reputation, I doubt your ability to just walk away from something like this, even knowing the consequences. At any rate, it's your choice, not mine."

Riku closed his eyes and bowed his head again, his wrists resting limply on his knees. He felt a hand pat his back, and then a glint of green leaked past his eyelids and he knew Joshua had gone. Now, he was left alone with only his choice for company.

Break Sora's heart, or risk his life.

How was he supposed to make a decision like that?

* * *

Rare are those who have gone their entire lives without feeling, even once, the sensation of waking up in the morning after having slept less than they would have hoped. Few have managed to escape the feeling of desperately trying to go back to sleep despite the fact that the light was too bright for sleep to come.

Roxas was not one of those lucky few.

His eyebrows drew together in a frustrated expression. His eyelids twitched. He rolled over. Still the light would not go away.

What made the experience all the better was the fact that there were people in his room, speaking just loudly enough for it to be annoying.

"Then why, Xion?" asked the deeper of the two voices. "If you have an explanation, by my guest. I'm all ears."

"Because he's a nice guy," said the other voice, sweet and clear like spring water on a summer afternoon. "Some people are just nice guys who do nice things. Why does he have to have a motive?"

Roxas tried opening one eye, only to close it blearily once he had decided it was too uncomfortable. Maybe he'd try again in a few minutes.

"No one does anything for nothing," said the deeper voice. It sounded strangely familiar to Roxas. Some part of him buried deep in his mind said something about tea with honey.

"Maybe Roxas does," said the sweeter voice. "You used to."

"Yeah, when I was eighteen," said the deeper one. "I don't even know how old I am anymore."

"I don't think Roxas is even eighteen. Maybe he hasn't learned to be jaded yet."

Xion.

Roxas forced both of his eyes open, even if it was just to stare at the ceiling. It still hurt, but Xion was in his room. Who was she talking to? It wasn't as if there was anyone else who could possibly-

Frowning, Roxas pushed himself onto his elbows and looked toward his door. Xion was indeed there, sitting at the foot of his bed, her hands resting on the carved wood on either side of her. The one she was speaking to leaned against the inside of the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and a bored (if slightly miffed) expression on his face. One heel was pressed against the doorframe beneath him, the other foot planted firmly on the floor. His bottle green eyes lifted from where they'd been burning a hole into the rug, having noticed Roxas' stirring.

"Axel?" Roxas pushed the blankets off of his body and swing his feet over the edge of the bed to rest against the cool floor beneath. "H-How are you—"

"Out of the cell?" Axel cocked an eyebrow. "Unchained? Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd tell me."

Roxas simply stared at Axel for a long moment, trying to remember what had led him to wake up in his bedroom in the first place.

His answer crashed into him all at once.

The ice, the cold chains biting into his palms, the sharp edges of Axel's frozen cage cutting into his fingers... Roxas looked down, frowning when he noticed the shallow cuts and small bruises that marked him on his palms and the insides of his fingers. He squeezed his hands slowly into weak fists and winced at the slow ache that drew from his injuries.

As startled as Roxas was to remember his injuries, it paled in comparison to how it felt to remember Axel. The way Roxas found him. The way he looked in the ice. The fear, not knowing whether Axel was alive or dead beneath the surface. The light illuminating his frozen, pained features.

The light from the chains.

He'd unlocked Axel's manacles without the slightest hesitation.

And now here Axel was, in his bedroom, his head inclined, his expression impatient.

"Oh..." Roxas swallowed. "I, uh..."

Axel's expression didn't changed. It seemed as though he already knew exactly what Roxas was going to say, like a parent waiting for his child to confess to some act of disobedience.

Roxas' eyes sought out Xion, searching for some kind of guidance at the foot of his bed. The expectancy in her eyes was very different from Axel's. She seemed more encouraging, silently urging Roxas to speak up, telling him that it was okay.

The boy swallowed, and he returned his gaze to Axel.

"I...unlocked the shackles?" he offered.

Axel waved a hand to dismiss Roxas' explanation. "Yeah, I got that much. I wanna hear how you did it. I know you don't have the key."

Roxas looked down at his hands again, thinking, hesitating, before deciding to go with his go-to response. "I... I was a thief," he claimed, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "I know how to pick locks because I used to break into people's houses, and—"

Axel sighed emphatically and shook his head, glaring at the floor. "Look, Kid, you're starting to get on my nerves. If you're not gonna tell me the truth, why are you even bothering to talk at all?"

Roxas rubbed his aching hands together. Axel was some sort of weird...fire guy, right? So...maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he just...

"I sort of..." He cleared his throat. "...told it...to unlock? I don't know how to explain it. I can just touch things, doors, boxes...and they unlock because I want them to. Or lock."

When Axel lifted his head, he wore a smirk. "There it is." He chuckled softly, breathily. "You're like Eraqus, then."

"Eraqus...?" Roxas turned to face Xion, who was positively beaming, her body twisting to lean toward Roxas with her hands planted on top of the quilt.

"I always loved what he could do." The girl sighed dreamily. "His light was so beautiful."

Axel turned his attention on Xion, cocking an eyebrow. "What, my fire not good enough for you?"

Xion giggled. "It's different, Axel."

Roxas' gaze darted frantically between Axel and Xion, his expression growing increasingly concerned with every turn of his head. "What are you talking about? Who's Eraqus? And—" His blue eyes snapped open wide, landing on Axel. "_Why are you in my room_?" he hissed in an urgent stage whisper. He wanted to leap from the bed and yank Axel inside so that he could lock the door. Only his memory of the all-consuming flames kept him from doing just that. "What if Xemnas—"

"Calm down, Kid." Axel smirked. "If Xemnas was here, you wouldn't have woken up."

Roxas' eyes widened at the possible implications of what he'd said before he realized...

...he'd woken up.

That meant he'd been asleep.

He hadn't slept in over a _month_.

"He—"

"He probably didn't finish whatever he was trying to do the other day before..." Axel shrugged and turned his face away. "You know."

Roxas gripped his trousers at the knee and sent the floor a thoughtful glare as he tried to sort his thoughts. Too much was happening too fast. Something about light, and someone named Eraqus, and sleep, and Xemnas... Before he had the chance to ask anything about any one of those subjects, Axel took advantage of the lapse into silence to voice a question of his own.

"So now that you've fessed up to how..." Axel inclined his head and stared down at his nose at Roxas. "Maybe you can tell me why."

"Why?" echoed Roxas.

"Why you unlocked the chains," elaborated Axel. "Why you bothered to break the ice."

Roxas stared at Axel for a long moment, his lips parted ever so slightly, before he could even find an answer that made sense to his own ears. He hadn't even been thinking when he'd freed Axel from the ice. He'd just acted. "I..." He worried his lip. "I guess I...panicked?"

"Panicked?" deadpanned Axel.

"Y-Yeah..." Roxas cleared his throat, trying dispel the fatigue in his throat that still lingered from his unexpected sleep. "I mean...the last time I saw you, you looked scared, so I got worried, so when I went downstairs to see if you were okay and you _weren't_..." He averted his eyes, zoning in on a point where the wall across from him met the ceiling. "You were in trouble, so...I helped."

When Roxas met Axel's eyes again, they were narrowed in suspicion. "You just decided to help."

"Yeah?"

"Even though it did _that _to your hands?"

Roxas looked down at his injuries and shrugged. "It's not as bad as being frozen alive."

"Why aren't you healing yourself, anyway?" asked Axel.

Roxas drew his eyebrows together and stared at Axel, trying to decipher what he meant. "Healing...?"

Axel stared right back in apparent disbelief for the span of a few seconds before rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "You're kidding."

"What are you _talking _about?"

Axel put his hands on his hips and bent low to send Roxas a disgruntled stare. "You're, what, fifteen? Sixteen? And you— What can you do besides the thing with the locks?"

Roxas furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? _Nothing_. It's _just_—"

"You've had these powers for over a decade and you seriously don't know anything but that?" asked Axel, raising an eyebrow.

"What makes you think I can do more?" asked Roxas, his brow furrowed with confused aggravation. "This is all I have. What would even give you the idea that there's more to it than this?"

"Man, you're slow." Axel shook his head. "Weren't you listening? I said you were just like Eraqus, which means..."

Roxas frowned thoughtfully in the pregnant pause. "You..." He met Axel's hortatory eyes. "You...know someone who can do what I can do?" Wait. "Or..._knew_, I guess."

Axel let loose a low whistle and clapped slowly. "You sure picked a winner, Xion."

"Quit being a jerk, Axel," said the girl, pouting. "Expecting Roxas to figure everything out on his own..."

"I'm not _stupid_," said Roxas, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just don't know what's going on. So that Eraqus guy, he could heal himself?"

"Did you figure that out all by yourself? What a clever little boy you are."

"_Axel_..."

"Yeah, yeah..." Axel sighed at Xion's gentle chiding. "Yes, Eraqus could heal himself. And other people. He could manipulate locks at will, light up a dark room, yadda yadda. He could do a bunch of stuff. So could you if you weren't too clueless to try."

"Give me a _break_." Roxas sent Axel a dirty look and got a look in response that took him a second to decipher. Axel seemed...not quite surprised, really, so much as he seemed...impressed. He leaned back from Roxas, against the doorframe, his arms crossed again. What, had no one ever back-mouthed him before? "It's not like it's normal to think of trying to fix a broken arm just because you can, I don't know, pop a lock with your mind. They have nothing in common."

"If Eraqus could figure it out—"

"Eraqus was almost fifty when we met him," protested Xion with a shake of her head. "He had a lot more time to try things."

Roxas sighed and let his head hang, his shoulders slumping. Could he really heal? This whole time? Then...what was the point of breaking into that doctor's trunk and stealing his medicine? What was the point in being chased away from home? Away from his brother? Riku? Kairi? What was the point in being trapped in a strange house where he never hungered, never thirsted, never tired?

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and he lifted his head to see Xion leaning over him, her eyes filled with concern. That was all he needed to answer his question.

He sent her a smile, covered her hand with his own, and turned toward the man standing in the doorway.

"Axel..."

"Yeah?"

"Why is Xemnas keeping you down there?"

The color drained from Axel's face. He uncrossed his arms, one hand falling to his hip, the other running nervously into the back of his hair. His eyes averted to the floor, clearly uncomfortable by the subject. Roxas might have felt bad for asking, having received such a response, but he needed to know.

"Hey, Xion..." began Axel softly.

"What is it?" answered the girl.

"I'm gonna take Roxas to the den," said Axel. "I know you already know everything, but stuff like this is easier to talk about one on one, so..."

"Right." The girl smiled in understanding and took her hand from Roxas' shoulder. "I'll stay up here, out of your way."

Axel nodded, and the hand that had been in his hair fell limply to his side. He gave Roxas a pointed look and gestured down the hall with a nod of his head before leading the way.

* * *

The fact that it hadn't been long after learning Zexion's true name meant that Vexen didn't immediately notice a voice shouting it in the thick, Agrabah crowd.

Zexion, however, noticed right away.

He stopped suddenly, turning to look behind him, his visible blue eye scanning the crowd.

"What is it?" asked Vexen, stopping as well. It took him several seconds longer to hear it.

"Zexion! There you are! S-Stay there, okay?!"

A few seconds later, a small boy with dirty blond hair squeezed through the crowd, bounding along with something in his arms. Some sort of parcel covered in brown paper and twine.

After a bit of struggle, Demyx finally reached them and bent in half to catch his breath. "Aw, gross," he muttered to himself. "I'm sweating so bad..." He whined and stood up straight, stretching his arms out in front of him as far as they could go, offering the mysterious parcel. "Here, I, uh— You know how, like, I said that people throw out the coolest stuff?" He grinned. "I found this yesterday night on the way back to my sleeping spot. It looked a lot like yours, so I thought maybe you might like it."

Zexion's eyes flicked uncertainly between the parcel and Demyx.

"Uh..." Demyx chewed his lip, apparently trying to remember something. "N... Nnnnon lovui? Uh, you speak Italian, right?"

Vexen was impressed. Had Demyx deliberately learned a phrase in Italian for the sake of communicating to Zexion? Even he had only done that once, if only because he hadn't had the time to sit down and learn a new language just yet.

Zexion stared at the package for a moment longer before releasing Vexen's hand and handing him the black book he kept tucked underneath his arm, freeing his hands to take the gift.

If Vexen hadn't been impressed before, that changed the second the brown paper was peeled back and its contents revealed.

Demyx was right, it did look very much like Zexion's other books. Though the design was slightly different, it bore the same make as his other books, this one white with a blue, x-shaped design. Its similarities were emphasized when Zexion pulled the cover back and eagerly flipped through the pages, his eyes slowly widening. He stopped on a single blank page and scanned down the invisible writing for a long moment before he lifted his head again.

"Thank you," said Zexion in quiet, slightly accented, but otherwise perfect English. "This is...very useful."

All Vexen could do was stare, his jaw dropped in an almost comical expression of shock, one that Demyx mirrored.

"E, ehm..." He flipped the page and read it before looking up at Demyx again. "Your instrument is called a sitar...a-and you're playing it wrong."

* * *

The den, as it turned out, was the same room where Roxas had been led the first time he arrived at the house, the same room Xion had led him to when they made rice together, when she finally convinced him to go into the study. The very chair Roxas had seated himself in was the same one he sat in when Xemnas cleaned his would as well as the same one he'd been sitting in when Xion hugged him the first time.

He could still remember Xemnas' cold hands on his bare skin.

The den, as it turned out, was the room Xemnas had first brought Roxas to when he had shown up wounded. The very chair he was seated in while he watched Axel bring a flame to life in the fireplace was the one he had been seated in that day.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding toward the stones in Axel's hands.

"Flint and steel," grumbled the man. "What does it look like?"

"I mean _why are you using them_?" elaborated Roxas. Already, Axel's smart remarks were beginning to wear on him.

"Well..." Roxas cringed. He could hear another quip teetering on the edge of Axel's lips. "Generally, people use them to start fires."

"Can't you just—"

Axel sighed emphatically. "Xemnas can tell when I conjure flames," he explained at last. "How do you think he showed up so fast when I attacked you? Using enough fire to fill up the whole room isn't exactly something I do for fun. He knew something had to be up." He cracked the stones together and sparks flew exactly where they needed to go on the first attempt. "Considering I'm supposed to be a Popsicle right about now, it's probably not the best idea to be showing off." He gestured over the glowing specks, pulling upward until they grew into something stronger.

"Playing with the fire that's already there, though? That should be fair game." He set the stones down on the stone surface in front of the fireplace before reaching out to plunge his hands into the flames in a way that seemed almost desperate. The weak way that he sighed instantly killed the irritation Roxas had developed over the sarcasm.

"So," said Roxas, "you brought me here to tell me why he's keeping you down there, didn't you?"

Axel's silhouette nodded, backlit by the orange flames. "Yeah." He stood slowly, an imposing shadow in the firelight...or so he might have seemed, if Roxas hadn't seen him cowering into a corner mere hours before just because someone barely over 150 centimeters tall had gotten a little too close. "I'm warning you, though... It's a long story."

"Well..." Roxas tore his gaze away to stare at the rug beneath his chair. "If we can't finish today, I can always hear the rest of it the next time I sneak downstairs, right?"

When he looked up, he was surprised to see a smile on Axel's face, albeit one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's true," he said. Roxas thought about the fire he'd managed to find in Axel's eyes when they first met. Finding it now, though, was impossible. That melancholy that it had been hiding behind had just multiplied more than Roxas thought possible. Whatever Axel was going to tell him, it was worse than he'd thought. A lot worse.

Axel crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair across from the one Roxas sat in. He leaned back, training his eyes on the ceiling, and took a few breaths to calm himself. The silence seemed to drag on forever, and Roxas was afraid that Axel was going to change his mind when he finally dropped his gaze from the ceiling and began to speak.

"Okay, you and me? We're the same."

Roxas' eyebrows knotted. "What?" What did he mean by that? And what did it have to do with anything?

Axel sighed and threw an arm over the top of the chair. "What I mean is, the relationship you have with light is the same as mine with fire. It's not a power. Power's not the right word. It's this...innate bond that we have with the forces of nature, and it works the same way for both of us."

Roxas nodded slowly. He understood, but he had to wonder where Axel was going with this.

"We're not the only ones like this, either," continued the man. "I used to know a ton of them."

"Including Eraqus, right?"

"Right." It was to Roxas' surprise that Axel didn't chastise him for pointing out the obvious. This Axel, the one in front of him, seemed like a totally different person from the one he'd spoken to upstairs. "Vexen, our kinda...would-be leader, he called us Thaumaturges. We all used to live together in this house, all of us trying to figure out these relationships in secret, safe from anyone who would call us 'witches' or 'devils'. We taught each other, but mostly it was Vexen teaching all of us. He was the one who knew it best. I mean, he was a total hard-ass, but he knew his stuff. And what he didn't know, one of us would figure out, and then we'd talk about it and give everyone else ideas so that we all grew together."

"So it was kind of like a school?" offered Roxas.

"Exactly." Axel grinned, but there was something off about it somehow. "St. Vexen's School for Freaks.

"Anyway, every once in a while, one of us would go into Sublustris and buy things we needed. Food, coal, tools, whatever. And we'd look for new students while we were out there. Most of the time, it was just wishful thinking, but unfortunately for us, we did find one eventually."

Roxas felt goosebumps crawl up his spine. He could already see where this was going. "Xemnas."

"Bingo," said Axel. "Xigbar came home one day with this silver-haired guy who had a relationship with darkness. Or so we thought. Turns out, the guy stole it."

Roxas tilted his head, staring skeptically. "He _stole _it? How do you steal a _relationship_?"

"Well, say you have a married couple," began Axel. "Some guy comes along, decides he likes the wife, and he kills the husband. The woman's single now, right? So she can get remarried."

"Xemnas killed someone?" asked Roxas, the color draining from his face. "Just to steal his darkness?"

"Exactly," said Axel. "And he didn't stop there, either. A couple of months after Xigbar brought him in, Xemnas started picking us off one by one, stealing what we had."

Roxas watched Axel silently for a long moment, willing himself not to shudder. There was something unnerving about the way he was talking about his friends' deaths like they didn't matter to him at all. At first, Roxas thought that Axel might have just been unnaturally cold, but that didn't make sense. As hard as it was to see right now, that fire was still in his eyes somewhere, way down deep. Roxas knew that Axel had a lot of emotion in him.

Too much.

He was overcompensating. Trying to feel nothing when the truth was that he was probably reliving the most devastating experience of his life.

Doubtless when Roxas realized this, it must have shown on his face, because Axel suddenly froze and sent Roxas a glare. "What?"

"Nothing," lied Roxas.

"Right..." Axel leaned back in his chair, glowering at Roxas in a wordless expression of doubt. "Anyway, everything went smooth for Xemnas up until the point when he went after Vexen. Like I said, completely objectively, Vexen was the strongest out of any of us. He had this _obsession _with learning. Being a rare subject and getting to experiment on himself was a dream come true for him, and he'd had a lot of time to experiment. He understood his relationship with ice completely. When Xemnas went after him, he put up one hell of a fight...or, y'know, so I'm told." He scratched the back of his head. "You'd have to ask Xion for the details. She was the one who saw it. Point is..." He dropped his hand. "The old guy did something to Xemnas—no clue what—that made him have trouble controlling Vexen's abilities. Or maybe they were just too much for him. I don't know. All I know is that he was strong enough to steal the relationship from Vexen-you've seen what he can do—but he's not strong enough to keep it in check." He leaned forward in his chair. "It's eating him alive. You leave him alone for too long, he turns into a walking ice cube. That's what he needs me for."

Roxas' gaze disconnected with the world as his mind latched onto a memory. Cold hands. Despite the warmth of the water, when Xemnas had tried to clean his wounds, his hands had been frigid to the touch. "But why does he need you?" asked Roxas, coming back to the real world. "Why can't he just melt himself in normal fire?"

"You wanna jump in the fireplace and see what happens?" asked Axel, gesturing toward it. "Be my guest."

Roxas' eyes widened and he shrank in his chair, almost as if afraid that Axel would throw him in personally. "Uh, no thanks." He cleared his throat. "Okay, but in that case, why doesn't he just..."

"Why doesn't he kill me?" offered Axel. "Is that what you're asking?"

Roxas nodded hesitantly. "Y-Yeah."

"He's tried," explained Axel flippantly. "I don't know what's going on any more than he does, but for some reason, he just can't. Instead, he sticks me with what he calls a Recusant's Sigil, slaps me with a pair of cuffs, throws me in the basement, and threatens to kill the one friend I have left if I don't thaw him out when he starts getting frosty."

Roxas' gut twisted at the thought of Xion's life being threatened. "Recusant's Sigil?"

"He carved a big 'X' into my chest and tracks me with it," explained Axel, much too casually for Roxas' comfort, considering the nature of their conversation. "That's why I can't go anywhere. That's why I can't conjure flames when he thinks I'm trapped in a block of ice."

Roxas furrowed his brow. "So we can't just leave," he mused.

"Not unless you plan on killing the guy," acknowledged Axel. "And good luck with that. I hate to say it, but he's practically a god. He's got ice—" He began to count off on fingers. "—darkness, illusion, wind, earth, water, lightning, flora, _space_, and _time _on his side. Whole lot of good fire and light would do, even if you did know what you were doing."

"Wait," said Roxas. "Doesn't he have light, too?"

"Nope."

"But that Eraqus guy—"

"Killed himself before Xemnas got to him."

Roxas flinched. "Oh." What else was there to say to that?

"Well, unless you have any more questions..." Axel climbed out of his chair and stretched an arm over his head.

Roxas pursed his lips thoughtfully. "How does Xion fit into any of this?"

Axel shrugged. "That's her business. She didn't tell you my secrets, so I'm not spilling hers."

Roxas nodded in understanding and climbed to his feet, following Axel's lead. "I guess that's fair." He rubbed his arm. "I'm...sorry."

Axel switched arms, stretching his left over his head now. "About what?"

"That you had to go through all of that," said Roxas. "Losing so many people you care about all at once and being locked up in a cold basement ever since." He close his eyes solemnly and shook his head. "I can't even imagine a nightmare like that."

When Roxas opened his eyes to look at Axel again, the man was staring, halted mid-stretch, his lips slightly parted. Roxas stared back, confused. Was anything he said really that astonishing? "Sorry, I... I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

Roxas' voice seemed to snap Axel out of his trance. The man turned his face away and scratched the back of his head, his arm hiding his expression. "No, it... It's cool, Man. Don't worry about it. Just not used to..."

Roxas took a wary step forward. "Not used to...?"

Axel lowered his arm and shook his head, a genuine smile on his face. "Forget it," he said. "Come on, let's go get Xion. I wanna make the most out of the time he's gone while we still can. Have you ever tried a cinnamon roll?"

"Er... What's a 'cinnamon roll'?"

"Just you wait. Wonder if we have the ingredients..."

* * *

The fresh snow crunched under Riku's feet with every step. The sun had long-since set, drowning the forest in darkness. Riku lifted his head to remark the deep blue skies overhead. Were it not so close to winder, Riku would have searched it for the bats; he missed their company. Perhaps it was in his nature, or perhaps it was only that he would have ordinarily been home by now, sharing a meal with Sora. That was certainly where Riku wanted to be, but something kept him from ending his search: Joshua's warning.

The way Riku saw it, three were two ways to deal with that fear.

Either _A_, he could stop searching for Roxas altogether at the cost of Sora's happiness; or _B_, he could search longer and harder, more desperately, until he could bring Roxas home.

It was difficult to search, however, once the sun had set and it was too dark to see. Riku shuddered in the cold and pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. "Maybe I should go back," he mused aloud to himself. _Before Sora begins to worry._

Guiltily, Riku turned on his heel and began his track back to the village, following his own footprints.

He'd barely walked for five minutes before something invaded his sense of smell, and then his sense of sight.

Someone was lying on the ground not five meters ahead of him, most likely collapsed from the cold. Riku's footsteps hastened in his worry, worry that only multiplied when Riku drew close enough to see who it was he'd stumbled upon.

"Sora!" Riku dropped to his knees at the boy's side and flipped him over onto his back. He was breathing, but each breath seemed like a struggle.

Just how long had he been lying in the snow like this?

"Riku..." whispered Sora, his voice weak. His eyelashes fluttered, and his eyes opened, albeit with much more effort than such a simple task should have ever required.

"What are you doing here?" Riku's calm voice belied the fervor in his heartbeat. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"You were late..."

Riku's gaze bore into the snow. Sora might as well have said, "This is your fault." Riku would have taken it the same way. He should have expected Sora to do something like this. He _should _have been _home at dusk _like he'd _promised_. If he _had_, this wouldn't have happened.

"Can you stand?" asked Riku; he could save his self-loathing for when Sora was no longer in danger.

"Y-Yeah..." said Sora. "I think so." He rolled onto his side and tried to push himself up, but Riku saw his arms shake with the effort.

Shaking his head, Riku quickly unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it from his shoulders. "Here, Sora," he said softly, wrapping his coat tight around Sora's shoulders, over the coat that Sora already wore. Without his own coat to ward off the wind, icy air crawled under the hem of Riku's shirt and bit at his skin. He winced. The cold was almost painful, but it was better to feel its frigid sting than to risk Sora's life. "Any better?"

Sora nodded weakly, and Riku reached around the boy's back and under his knees to pull him into his arms. He was heavier than the last time Riku held him like this. When Sora's illness was at its worst, he'd been frighteningly light. He'd been steadily gaining weight back since he'd begun taking the medicine Roxas had stolen, but he was still lighter than he should have been.

Riku tucked Sora's head under his chin, and the boy reached out in turn to grip onto the collar of his shirt.

"You'll be okay," assured Riku, trying to convince himself just as much as the boy in his arms. "I promise."

He began to walk, resuming the trail of his own footsteps, but when he felt Sora begin to shake his head, he stopped.

"What's wrong?" asked Riku, his concern unmistakable.

"I won't be okay," whispered Sora, his voice muffled by Riku's shirt.

Riku felt his heart stutter. He could never remember Sora being anything less than optimistic. What changed?

"Don't say that," he uttered sternly, his feet moving again. They needed to get out of the cold and fast. "You'll be fine."

"Riku..." The way Sora spoke reminded Riku of the way he used to whine when Riku would tease him as a child. It was eerie, hearing that tone from this weak, frail Sora. "Don't."

"Don't what?" questioned Riku.

"Lie," breathed Sora. "You're _lying_."

"I'm not lying," insisted Riku. "You're cold right now, and scared, but you'll get better."

Again, Sora shook his head.

_Stop doing that, _thought Riku desperately, his eyes narrowing. "We just need to get you in front of a fire and you'll—"

"We won't make it that far."

Every pessimistic word out of Sora's mouth made it harder for Riku to think. Everything he knew had suddenly been turned on its head. Sora had always been the light, cheerful one. Sure, he got sad sometimes. Everyone did. But he never gave up. Not like this.

"Sora..."

"You know how people always say that you can tell when you're in love?" Weak fingers tightened in the fabric of Riku's collar. "How it just hits you, and you suddenly know? I think it's the same thing with dying."

Riku looked down at the boy in his arms, and Sora smiled tiredly back at him, as if _Riku _were the one who needed _his _help.

"Remember how you used to think you were in love with Kairi?" asked Riku, forcing his eyes to watch the trail of footprints in front of him. "You were wrong about that. What makes you so sure about this?"

"I just know, okay?" rasped Sora. "It's like... It's like I'm already dead and it's just taking a while to sink in."

"You're not dead," snapped Riku. "You're just scared."

"But I'm not scared, Riku," insisted Sora. "I'm not afraid of dying."

Riku's glare hardened, his teeth clenched too tightly to form an answer.

"I think..." Sora began in a whisper. "I think you're the one who's scared."

The crunching beneath Riku's boots slowed to a crawl. His grip on Sora's cold, weak body tightened, as if afraid that the very air could whisk him away. "...Maybe I am," he conceded.

"Riku..."

"Fine, Sora!" hissed the silver-haired boy. "I'm _scared_. What do you want from me?"

"It... It'll be okay, R—"

"No, Sora, it won't." His breath stuttered in his throat, forcing itself around the knot steadily forming. "I'm _nothing _without you. I've _never _been _anything _without you."

"Riku—"

"That month I spent hunting with my dad in the Black Forest? I felt like I was losing myself, like I was being suffocated by my own darkness."

"R—"

"And when I was visiting family in Destiny Islands? It felt like I was being eaten alive." Riku's grip on Sora tightened, and when he looked down at the boy in his arms, his eyes were red-rimmed, irritated by the beginnings of tears. "You don't know how it felt, Sora, so don't pretend you know I'll be okay without you."

"You'll still have Kairi—"

"I don't care about Kairi!" Riku regretted the words the moment they left him. He sighed, heavy and hurting. "Of course I care about Kairi, but it's different. I could live without Kairi, but you..."

Sora reached up to squeeze Riku's arm. The grip on his bicep was so weak...

"I know," rasped the boy. "I know what you're...trying to say, but it doesn't...change anything. I'm still..."

"_You're not dying!"_

Sora's hand slid down Riku's arm, and his eyes closed. "You'll be...okay...Riku..."

"Sora?" Riku's voice was weak, small, disbelieving. He dropped to the ground and his right arm unhooked from Sora's knees to seek out his face. Even through Riku's gloves, he could feel how cold the Sora was. "Sora, don't do this. Y-You've got to hold on. Sora!"

Riku listened hard to the sounds of Sora's labored breathing, to the crackling sound in his throat, until it was replaced by frozen silence.

"S-Sora, don't... You can't, I..."

He didn't notice his own tears until the cold mistral cut into the trails they left behind.

Words no longer came. What good were they? They hadn't even been worth enough for stop a friend from dying in his arms. Instead of speaking, Riku clenched his teeth and bent down low to bury his face in Sora's neck, holding tight onto the empty shell his dearest friend had left behind and sobbing into his collarbone.

Why had he stayed out so long?

Why hadn't he been able to find Roxas before this happened?

Why couldn't Joshua have done something?!

Why couldn't Joshua...

Joshua?

Every muscle in Riku's body hardened. He lifted his head, searching the area frantically.

There wasn't even the slightest trace of the Ankou in sight.

If the Ankou wasn't around, then Sora couldn't possibly—

Riku leaned down, intending to press his ear to Sora's chest to check for a heartbeat, but he'd barely even moved when the Sora in his arms disappeared, leaving only Riku's empty coat behind.

A multitude of emotions, confusion not the least among them, flashed in Riku's eyes as he jumped to his feet. He didn't bother putting his coat back on. That didn't matter. That could wait.

He ran through the forest, past the trees, cutting through bushes rather than around if they dared to get in his path. In thirty minutes' time, Riku reached the edge of the woods, panting, but not slowing. If anything, he hastened, pushing past the streets and onto Sora's front step.

He burst inside, ignoring the entirety of the living room for the sake of running frenetically into Sora's bedroom.

At the edge of his bed, in his night clothes, his feet hanging over the edge, eyes wide with concern, sat Sora.

For the second time that night, Riku felt tears roll down his cheeks. His coat dropped to the floor, forgotten. He loped forward, paying not the least bit of nevermind to the tracks of snow and mud he left in his wake.

"Riku? What's—"

Before Sora could so much as finish his question, he had been pulled into Riku's arms. Breathy, relieved sobs shuddered as they fell from Riku's lips. Tears mingled with Sora's hair, leaving the boy as incredulous as he was worried.

Riku felt a pair of strong, albeit thin arms wrap around him to still his trembling shoulders. Sora's hands were warm, not at all like the ignis fatuus within the forest. "Riku, are you...crying?"

Riku laughed once in spite of himself, a harsh sound. He couldn't blame Sora for being surprised. It was no accident that the boy had never seen Riku cry before. _Riku _was supposed to be the strong one, the one _Sora _was supposed to rely on.

"Um... Do you want to talk about it, or...?"

Riku swallowed, shaking his head at Sora's question. The last thing he wanted was to relive that horror.

"Okay," whispered Sora, gentle and understanding as always. "We don't have to. Geez, you're so cold." His arms tightened around Riku, trying to warm him. "Want some tea? You're better at making it, but I could—"

"I'll do it."

Sora hesitantly pulled back and looked at Riku's face, searching it for answers. "Okay," he said warily. "Only if you want to, though." He reached up, smiling as he swept Riku's tears away. "I'll be right here.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay?"


	7. Under the Moonlight

Author's Note: Previous chapters have been edited. Changes include alterations for period accuracy and new story content. A reread is suggested, but not necessary.  
Thank you for your patience.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_Under the Moonlight_

"We've waited too long."

Vexen peered over the top of his desk to look at Zexion, matching the boy's grave expression with one of his own. "Yes," he said quietly. "I quite agree. One disappearance was quite enough, but now..."

Zexion nodded slowly. "But now Xaldin is gone as well," he provided. "That makes two disappearances within the last month."

"Two too many," harrumphed Vexen. "And Xaldin was one of our most experienced. We've lost not only a friend, but a valuable asset to our institution. This has gone much too far."

"Are we in agreeance to set our plan in motion, then?" asked Zexion.

Vexen narrowed his eyes at the scattered pages on his desk and steepled his fingers. "I'm afraid we have little choice," he said. "Eraqus has already agreed to the procedure. The only hitch is—"

"Axel's consent," interjected Zexion, already knowing full well what his guardian would have said. "Naturally, Axel is far too passionate an individual to agree to measures so drastic, and the chances of us getting his consent to do what we must are slim at best." He tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips. "Unfortunately, that does not change the fact that these are measures that must be taken if our movement is to survive, and it does not change the fact that he is our only true hope."

"Then what are we to do in order to procure Axel's involvement?" asked Vexen.

"I propose—" began Zexion, but before he could finish his sentence, the door to Vexen's study burst open, and a wide-eyed Riku cleared the entrance so that the man following him could enter freely.

Axel crossed the threshold with an unconscious girl lying limp in his arms. The right sleeve of her coat fluttered with every step Axel took, as if unoccupied.

The chair Vexen had been sitting in screeched as it was pushed backward by his sudden climb to his feet.

"What on earth has happened?" demanded the man, rounding the corner of his desk.

Axel opened his mouth to answer, but before he got the chance to speak, Riku interrupted him.

"It's my fault," said the boy, urgency in his voice. "I shouldn't have— I said I'd race her to the edge of the clearing, but there was a tree root, and she...she tripped, and..." The boy trailed off. Nothing more needed to be said.

Vexen cradled the back of his damaged creation's head with one hand, the opposite hand reaching under her to support her back. "Lie her on the floor," he instructed Axel, and the two lowered themselves on the rug. Xion's head was the last to meet the floor, gently set there by Vexen's steady hands, hands that he then pulled away to unzip the girl's coat.

Once the coat had cleared her torso, the cause for concern was immediately revealed.

At Xion's shoulder, where an arm should have begun, was a flat, uneven edge, sharp in some places, too smooth in others: the broken remains of an intricate ice sculpture.

"This could have been much worse," said Vexen, one bony hand pushing Xion's tank top over what was left of her shoulder, the other tracing the shattered edges. "Much worse, and I'll trust you to keep that in mind for the future, Riku."

The boy nodded, his eyes downcast, too ashamed of himself to speak.

Axel, however, was not.

"It was an accident, you damn windbag—"

"Axel," said Riku, his voice soft, eyes still trained on the carpet fibers. "He's right. I should've been more careful."

"He's a kid," continued Axel, Riku's comment ignored. "He and Xion _both _are. Do you expect them to spend their whole lives tiptoeing around like they're made of china?"

"If they value their lives, yes," countered Vexen. "Now, if you would be so kind as to step back, I do need space. Not to mention _quiet_. This will not be a simple process."

Indeed, it wasn't. The next several hours were spent almost entirely in silence.

Riku sat in a wooden chair beside the bookshelf, his knee bouncing nervously, his eye stagnant on his injured sister creation.

Axel stood beside him, trying to provide a reassuring presence, though he did little but glare at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest.

Zexion had left the room temporarily to brew a pot of tea. When he returned, it was with a full tea set carefully balanced on a tray. He set the tray atop the walnut desk and offered a cup each to Axel and Riku.

"I can't believe this guy," grumbled the former as Zexion carefully tipped the contents of the teapot into the cup in his hands. His words were quiet, almost inaudible despite the rage behind them. Though he was angry, he knew better than to disturb the man working on his carpet. "It was an accident. As if Riku needed that...that _guilt trip_. He's beating himself up enough as it is."

Riku didn't answer, but Zexion did.

"He may not seem it," said the boy as he moved from Axel's cup to Riku's, "but Vexen is afraid." Loose tea leaves swirled in Riku's cup until Zexion tilted the teapot upright again. "Wait for that to cool," he advised gently before continuing.

"Vexen lashed out because it was his first instinct. Normally, he is a very rational man, but fear can spark the most primitive responses from even the most dignified of men." He took a small pitcher from the tray and tipped its contents into Riku's cup. The milk lightened the color of the tea and cooled the temperature, making it safer for the boy of ice to drink. "This time, it seems it caused Vexen to place blame on the most readily available target." Zexion reached for a third cup on the tray and turned it upright. "In this case, that target was Riku, who indirectly and unintentionally put Xion at risk." He brought the third cup, now filled with tea, to his lips and took a small sip before facing his companions once more. "Of course, Riku is hardly responsible and should know better than to take Vexen's remark personally." He gave the boy in question a pointed look over the lip of his teacup. "Those words were nothing more than the misdirected pain of a concerned father." Something knowing flashed across Zexion's expression. "You will understand, Axel, when the time comes for you to meet someone whose life matters to you more than even your own."

Axel leered at Vexen through the corner of his eye. "Is that just your prediction?" he drawled. "Or is that something you read in one of your little storybooks?"

"You know it would be irresponsible for me to suggest one way or the other." Again, Zexion sipped from his cup. "At any rate, the point I'm trying to make is simply that you, Riku, should not take what Vexen says to heart. He is a very proud man, and thus I doubt that he will apologize, at least in words. I would, however, be surprised if he didn't show you his regret in some way. As I said, fear can control a person." A minute smile tugged at the corners of Zexion's lips, barely visible except to those who knew him best. "However, fear can also be useful, particularly in a case such as Vexen's. I believe he is repairing Xion much faster than he would have been able to without that emotion to rely on." The boy frowned. "Speaking of emotions, I would appreciate it if you could find it in yourself to calm down, Axel. That teacup was meant to hold hot liquids, yes, but bringing your tea to a boil inside of the cup itself might be a bit much for it."

In time, Vexen stood and took a step back to admire his work. From the shoulder down, Xion bore a new arm, shimmering and sparkling in the sparse sunlight that still flooded in from the window.

"Zexion, if you would, please..."

"Of course." The boy crossed the short distance to the unconscious girl's side and kneeled to take her by the hand. A pale, fleshy color flooded from the point where their hands met to the end of the crystalline replacement, and to the naked eye, Xion was once again a normal girl. Nothing less and nothing more.

She began to stir, her gentle features twisting into a wince as she roused from her sleep.

Riku was by her side in a flash, and he took the hand opposite of the one Zexion already held.

"What...happened to me?" questioned Xion, her voice raspy with weariness.

"You took a nasty spill," explained Vexen from where he stood not a meter away. He may have sounded just as stern and indifferent as usual, but anyone who knew him as well as Zexion did could see the relief that barely shone through his features. "The change in your form was too great and your consciousness slipped out of reach as a result. There is nothing to worry about now. Your strength will return within the day.

"It was my fault," said Riku, glowering at their joined hands. "If I was more careful, this wouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."

Xion only shook her head, a smile on her lips. "Does this mean you win the race by default?" she asked. "Or did you get disqualified?"

Riku's eyes widened, and his surprised expression gradually transformed into a tired smile, the first smile he'd worn since that morning. "Tch. You wish."

* * *

Roxas walked down the stairway slowly, barely counting his steps. It had been a week since the last time he'd seen Axel, when he and Xion had both escorted him back into the basement, and Roxas had been forced to grudgingly lock Axel's manacles, trapping him once more.

"It's all right," Axel had insisted with a smile on his face that Roxas had been able to immediately recognize as forced. "You're busting us out of here, right? What's a little longer in the irons?"

The way Axel had said it only made clear that he didn't believe that Roxas would be able to save him at all. And Roxas could understand that. Of course he could. Axel had been kept underground for so long that Roxas was sure that loss of escape was inevitable. Still, it had been disheartening for Roxas to realize that Axel had no faith in him whatsoever.

Each day Roxas had spent since that one had all been focused on trying to understand the _relationship with the light _that Axel had been so sure he had. He tried to make things in his room glow, to bend the beams of light that flooded in through his window, to heal the wounds on his hands...anything. But any result thoroughly evaded him. If there was any truth to Axel's insistence that he could control the light, then Axel knew that it was imperative that he learn to understand that relationship as soon as he could. If they were going to plan an escape attempt, they needed every angle possible.

Roxas reached the final stair and lowered himself onto the floor with a last, careful step. "Axel?" he called out quietly, lowering his hood.

A small flame bloomed to life against the far wall, illuminating the room. Axel sat on the floor in the corner, one leg flush against the cool stone floor, the other raised with his forearm resting atop the knee, palm turned up to cradle the flame in his hand. "Thought you were Xemnas," he admitted, his voice unexpectedly quiet. "'Sbeen a while. I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me."

"No way," said Roxas, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "I wanted to come sooner, but Xion told me to wait a while to make sure Xemnas didn't suspect me."

"Huh." Axel allowed his head to tilt back and bump into the wall behind him. "Well, don't be a stranger. Got it memorized?"

Roxas eyed the finger that tapped Axel's temple. "Uh, sure."

A moment of loud silence followed until Axel seemed to grow annoyed enough by it and gestured to the floor in front of him. "You gonna take a seat or what?"

"Oh. Yeah." Roxas walked until he was less than a foot away from Axel and took a seat. There, he worried his lip for a time as he tried to decide how to say what he wanted to say. Trying things on his own hadn't yielded any results. He knew that he needed to ask Axel for help. It was just a matter of figuring out how to ask.

He didn't even get the chance to open his mouth before Axel spoke instead.

"Hey, Roxas..."

"Yeah?"

"What's the happiest memory you can think of?"

Roxas' eyes widened. Where in the world had that come from? "What?"

"What do you mean 'what?'" asked Axel, eyebrow cocked. "I'm just asking. It's not like I'm holding a gun to your head or something." Again, he shrugged. "Just thought I'd get to know you better is all."

Roxas nodded in understanding and focused his eyes on the floor as he considered the question. "Well, I guess..." When he lifted his head, he was frowning. "I guess that would be my brother."

"That's not really a memory," noted Axel. "Can't you think of anything more specific?"

"I don't know," said Roxas. "Why does it matter?"

"Older or younger?" asked Axel.

"Older," said Roxas. "Barely."

"He ever take the blame for you when your parents were mad?"

Roxas thought about it. Sora had done that for him more than once, actually. He'd never been the best liar in the world, and their mother usually saw right through it, but that never stopped Sora from trying. Like the time Roxas had broken a plate while they were washing dishes together and Sora had immediately jumped to his rescue. Or the time when that owl had gotten into the house, and Sora insisted that he'd been the one to leave the window open.

"Sure," said Roxas finally, his voice soft, almost reverent. "Loads of times. How did you know that?"

Axel turned his face away, shrugging off the accusation. "Lucky guess," he claimed.

Roxas doubted it. "You have a brother, don't you?"

For several seconds, Axel refused to answer, and Roxas was worried that he'd somehow come across as offensive."

"Had," said Axel when he finally spoke. "A long, long time ago. He'd be long dead by now."

"What— Oh..." Roxas looked down at his lap, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd actually managed to forget. The fire had been around for centuries, and that meant, somehow, so had Axel. "You've...been in here for a really long time, haven't you?"

Axel regarded Roxas for less than a second before averting his gaze again. "You have no idea."

"I think I do, though," insisted Roxas, his hands curling into fists on his knees. "I think...maybe...you've been in here for about three-hundred years." Monster or not, those flames did have to come from somewhere.

That caught Axel's attention. He sat up a little straighter and turned his body a few degrees further in Roxas' direction. "Now how do you know that?"

"I bet you try to get out sometimes," said Roxas, his gaze hardening. "I bet you make it all the way outside before Xemnas notices you're gone, and when he catches up, you have to defend yourself, so...you try to fight back by making these huge fires, right?"

"Ah." A minute smirk stretched Axel's lips. "You've actually seen them."

"It's...kind of hard not to," admitted Roxas with a sheepish half-smile.

"Huh." Axel leaned against the wall behind him again. "You'd think someone would have investigated them by now."

"Well..." Roxas averted his eyes. Should he really tell Axel? Would it upset him? "Everyone's too scared," he confessed quietly, his gaze flicking back up to meet Axel's. "It's sort of an unwritten rule. Nobody goes too deep into the woods because everyone thinks that whatever's making the fire appear has to be dangerous." He shook his head. If only the villagers who chased him away from home knew that their so-called wrathful god was just a hostage trying to escape his captor. "Half of the stories parents tell their kids are about the fire. 'The Armored Rider', 'The Lost Prince', 'The Music Man's Folly,' 'The Gambler of Fate'... No one in Sublustris grows up without hearing them at least once. Nobody wants to risk being the next fairy tale."

Axel regarded Roxas with a dubious look. "So why are _you _here?" he asked.

Roxas glanced down at his knees. "I guess you could say it wasn't a total lie when I told you I was a thief."

"So, what, you got chased out by an angry mob?"

Roxas' only answer was a sheepish smile and a shrug.

Axel laughed and shook his head at the ceiling. "Kid, you are full of surprises."

* * *

It was a humid summer night, just after the first rain in weeks. Puddles still littered the cobblestone streets, reflecting firelight from the streetlamps. Those roaming the city were few and far between, not caring to risk getting wet should the foul weather return. The only ones who dared to wander outside were those who had important business and those who had no business at all.

Of the latter, two young men strolled the streets, conversing loudly and, on the part of the bulkier individual, boisterously.

"I'm just sayin' she needs to calm down once in a while, y'know?" The taller of the two men swung his arms as he walked. "She's always complainin' about somethin', and never anything more than one word at a time, just shoutin', y'know? 'STINKS.' 'HOT.' 'BITTER.' I mean, she's great, but if you ask me, she seriously needs to get l—"

The shorter of the two, blond and very angry-looking, thrust an arm out to stop his friend in his tracks.

"What?" asked the bulky man.

"Do you see that?" asked the angry one.

The former looked ahead of their path and saw a cart attached to two mares, each swishing its tail to swat flies away.

"Sure," said the man. "Looks like the apothecary's carriage, y'know?"

"Yeah," said the latter, a slow smile creeping over his face. "Wasn't that her husband in the prize fight a couple of weeks ago?"

"The one that kicked your butt?" asked the bulky man. The angry one nodded slowly. "I think that was the guy, y'know?"

"I do know," said his friend. "Find some rocks," he ordered. "Big ones."

The taller man ventured into the nearby forest and returned shortly with an armful of stones. He handed the first to his companion, who lobbed it as hard as he could at the side of the wagon. The horses whinnied in protest, and were they not tied to a post outside of the pub, they would have surely run off. More stones followed the first, leaving dents, breaking spokes, and startling the mares. A particularly loud snap echoed across the street when a heavy stone snapped the rear axle in two, causing the wagon to sink backward.

The snap and the irritated whinnies that followed didn't go unheard. A boy roaming the streets alone noticed the vandalism and rushed in just as the blond drew an arm back to throw another stone. The child stretched his arms out wide to block the stone, to keep it from reaching its target, but, luckily for him, the assailant took pity and dropped his arm, the stone still held firmly in his grip.

"Out of the way, Punk," said the man with a firm jerk of the head toward the alleyway whence the boy came.

"No," said the boy, his turquoise eyes, though partly obscured by raven hair, stone with fierce determination. They reflected the fire in his soul as easily as they did the street lights. "This is wrong. This cart belongs to someone." Despite his small stature, the child spoke with words as firm and strong as that of any full-grown man. "Leave it alone."

"I'm warning you one last time, Kid," growled the angry man. "Move, or we'll make you move."

"Try it," dared the boy.

The two men exchanged glances. Neither had ever seen such a small boy with such a mammoth presence.

The shorter of the two allowed his stone to fall to the ground and shoved his thumbs into his belt with a huff. He grumbled and turned on his heel, his shoulders hunched.

"Seifer?" questioned the larger man."

"C'mon, Rai," was his friend's only retreating response.

The man dropped the few remaining stones in his arms, not seeming to notice when one fell on his feet, and he quickly chased after his friend.

The child sighed in relief and lowered his arms. When he turned around, however, the righteous fury in his features was quick to return. It axle wasn't simply fractured; it had been completely crushed, splintering at the center. There would be no way for him to repair it.

Clenching his hands into tiny fists, the boy turned and took off into the forest. Though this forest had provided the very things that had damaged the cart, perhaps it could also provide the means to restore it.

The child returned momentarily with a branch roughly the same width and length as the axle. Though perhaps not nearly as smooth, it would serve as a temporary fix. The boy bit his lip hard as he stared at the rear of the cart, wondering how he might be able to lift it for long enough to make the repairs he needed to make.

His eyes on the cart, he was blissfully unaware of the eyes that were on him, and he could continue to be unaware until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The boy jumped, dropping the makeshift axle and quickly whipping around to see what must have been the strangest man he'd ever seen.

To begin with, the man wore a sleeved, black cloak, his hood up. At the front of the coat, in place of buttons, there was some sort of shining, metal, continuous clothing closure that stretched from the neck of his coat to the hem, though it seemed to be, well, 'unbuttoned', as it were, from the thighs down.

Not only were the man's clothes strange, but his countenance as well, as was clear when he lowered his hood to allow the child a clear view of his hair.

It was pink. As pink as any carnation, as any pale rose, and voluminous enough to make any woman envious, though the rest of his features seemed to be masculine.

"Hello," the man greeted, his deep voice sending shivers up the child's spine. "That was a brave thing you did earlier, standing up to those two men. _Very _brave." He nodded toward the cart. "That carriage belongs to an old friend of mine. It's a shame that it's been damaged." He kneeled in front of the boy, his blue eyes shining with something that made the child's skin crawl. "My name is Marluxia."

"I'm..." the boy began, but stopped. His parents had always told him not to speak to strangers, and this man, though he seemed to be acting kindly enough, frightened him more than the violent men from before had. Somehow, something about him seemed inhuman.

"That's a very long branch you have," explained the man with a nod toward the limb lying on the ground between his feet and the boy's. "Were you planning on using it to repair the cart?"

The boy nodded mutely.

"Would you like me to lift it for you?" asked Marluxia.

Again, the boy nodded without a word, and the man climbed to his feet. With what seemed to be no effort, he gripped the rear of the cart and lifted it to waist height. The horses shuffled nervously. The wheels fell uselessly to the side. "Crawl underneath and set the branch in place," he instructed. "I will hold this for as long as necessary."

The child nodded. Despite the man's words, he made sure to push the broken pieces away and replace them with the branch as quickly as possible.

"Now set the wheels in place," said Marluxia.

Ignoring the way the man's voice still gave him goosebumps, the oy did as he was told.

Marluxia lowered the wagon carefully onto the ground, and it stayed upright. "It seems to be functional," he said, "but the moment they set off, the axle is certain to come loose. Those wheels were not meant for that branch."

The child crossed his arms, humming in thought for a moment, before kneeling to the ground and reaching for his shoes. With swift, dexterous movements, he began to loosen the laces of his boots. Once both laces were free, he walked awkwardly to the side of the wagon, bent down, and used them to fasten the axle in place.

Upon realizing what the child was doing, Marluxia stepped in, taking the laces from the boy's hands and tying the strings into a more suitable knot.

He did the same with the opposite side before returning to the child and grabbing him by the shoulder.

"My friend and her husband are sure to come through that door at any moment," he said firmly. "We should remove ourselves from the scene. We wouldn't want them to think we had done this, would we?"

The boy swallowed nervously and allowed himself to be led to the alleyway he'd originally come from, his feet sliding in his boots with every step.

Indeed, mere seconds after the two had disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway, the door to the pub opened up, and two young people walked out into the street.

The woman was the first to notice. She gasped, her delicate hands rising to cover her mouth.

The man, realizing what his wife had seen, cursed. "Almasy..." he accused.

"Zack," chastised the woman, "we don't know it was him." She sighed and stepped forward, circling her wagon and inspecting the damage closely, her thin fingers drifting over every dent, every broken spoke. "It could have been anyone."

"Some people," growled the man. "I can't believe there are so many jerks in the world."

When the woman reached the rear of the carriage, she stopped in her tracks, and a slow smile spread across her face. "I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe there are a lot of jerks, but there are good people, too. See?"

The man followed his wife to where she stood at the far side of the cart and followed her gaze to the repaired axle. "Huh," he said quietly, crossing his arms. "How about that?"

From the alleyway, the dark-haired child smiled, allowing himself to be proud for a moment, having temporarily forgotten who he was with. But was soon reminded when the man's hand found his shoulder yet again. The boy swallowed and turned to look up at him.

His expression was indeterminable.

"I want to repay you for what you did," he said with a chilling smile.

"Oh..." The boy cleared his throat and took a step away, only to bump into the stone wall behind his back. "You really don't have to do that."

"I want to," insisted the man, and he kneeled to bring himself to eye-level with the boy. "And I have just the thing."

The boy's eyes widened. "I-I need to go home. My parents..."

"This won't take long," said Marluxia, and his hand moved from the boy's shoulder to the crown of his head.

The child moved to the side, apparently to attempt an escape from the chilling man, but he made it no farther than an inch before his body became rigid and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His hair, as dark as the night, was slowly drained of its color from root to tip, as if it were a glass inkwell that had been tipped upside-down. In wake of the ebony shone an ethereal, angelic silver.

"Riku, was it?" purred Marluxia. "In choosing to defend a dear friend of mine from those foul creatures from before, you have earned my favor, and with it, a blessing. From this day onward, the Ankou will treat you as one of their own. Each will revere you for the remainder of eternity, and each will be seen to you until the day comes that one must eventually take you. In addition..." He slid his hand down from the top of the boy's head and stroked his hair fondly. "The bonds of morality will have no hold over you until you have met fifty Ankou from your parish. For the next fifty years, you will be as invulnerable as the Ankou themselves. Illness will have no hold over you, your skin will mend itself as soon as it is torn, and even the most painful of burns will fade in seconds. This is my will, and it will be done."

The man finally pulled his hand away from the child's head, and the boy dropped to the ground, his eyes half-lidded.

"Your strength will return to you in minutes," explained the Ankou, pulling his hood over his head to hide his features once more. With the wave of his hand, a scythe as pink as his hair appeared in his hand. "Now, if you will excuse me, I really must have a word with those brutes from before."

The child closed his eyes, and in seconds, sleep took him.

When he awoke next, it was to the sound of a kind voice.

"Hey! Hey, are you okay?"

The child blearily opened his eyes, and when he did, he was warmly greeted by a pair of warm, blue eyes. The kindest and most beautiful he had ever seen. They seemed to be made of the sky itself.

Slowly, he forced himself to rise. He felt moderately nauseated, but aside from that, he was fine. He looked down at his hands uncertainly, then back to the gorgeous blue eyes. Was that all just a dream?

"I'm okay," he said softly, taking in his surroundings, shifting uncomfortably in his damp clothes; the road was still wet. "What happened to me?"

"I don't know," said the boy those blue eyes belonged to. He was Riku's age, perhaps slightly younger, with sun-kissed skin and brown hair just long enough to tickle his cheeks. "I just found you like this. Most people don't take naps in the middle of the street. I thought you got hit by a cart or something. I got worried. I'm glad you're okay."

The boy stood and offered a kind hand. Riku took it gladly and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"I like your hair," said the boy, beaming.

Riku raised his eyebrows. His hair was just black and no doubt messy. There was certainly nothing special about it. Unless... He reached up to a lock that framed his face and pulled it in front of his face.

Silver?

So that wasn't a dream, then.

He looked back at the boy, who was watching him with a bright, radiant smile. "What's your name?"

"I'm Sora!" said the child brightly. "What about you?"

The silver-haired boy couldn't help the sincere smile that tugged at his lips.

"'It's Riku."

* * *

Against Xion's warning, Roxas returned again the following day, his mind still full of questions.

"So..." he began, sitting with his back against the stone wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with Axel. "You used to be part of this...school of people with powers like yours, right?"

Axel looked at Roxas. "And?"

"Well, what was it like?" asked Roxas. "Like, all of your powers were different, right? So how did you teach each other?"

Axel shrugged. "Every person is different, but you can always find common ground if you look hard enough, can't you?" Roxas nodded. "Same basic principle. It doesn't matter if the relationship you have is with ice or wind or water; there's always common ground."

"Like what?" asked Roxas.

"I dunno..." Axel rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. "Like... Like how they're triggered."

Roxas leaned forward intently.

"They're all controlled with emotions, got it memorized?" Axel tapped his temple with a half-smile. "The emotions might be different, but the way they're used is the same."

"So what's light's emotion?" asked Roxas.

Axel hung his head in exasperation. "You don't even know that much? Man, talk about blank with a capital 'B'..."

Roxas elbowed him gently. "Give me a break; I never knew any of this before," he grumbled. "I didn't even know I could control anything besides locks."

"Yeah, I guess you've got a point," sighed Axel. When he lifted his head, he met Roxas' eyes. "_Happiness_."

Roxas chewed his lip. "And fire's?"

Axel's smile disappeared. He regarded Roxas darkly through half-lidded eyes.

"Rage."

* * *

It had been a normal enough day to begin with. Axel had woken up, met with Saïx, eaten breakfast, and met Lexaeus in the library to discuss a new concept, something that he'd mentioned before, but never in detail.

"We discovered this on our travels before we settled here on the border of Sublustris," explained the copper-haired man. "Our first experience with it was with an older gentleman, a man named Galuf, who controlled the earth in the same way that I did. We've since dubbed it a Limit Break, as it seems to be a defense mechanism that is evoked when we are near the ends of our lives, or once we've broken our limits, so to speak.

"However..." Lexaeus' expression became grave. "Its use seems to be not to save the user's life, but the lives of those around him, as the limit break exerts a great deal of energy. Galuf, for example, used his final breath to free his granddaughter from fallen stones after a rockslide."

"Hold a moment," said Saïx, his green eyes narrowing. "How many experiences have you had with this phenomenon? How can you be certain that this will happen for all of us?"

Lexaus fixed Saïx with a stern look. "Vexen, Xaldin, and I have each tested it on each other, but only ever with Eraqus there. Without him, each of us would have died. I'm sure of it."

"Ouch," said Axel with a smirk. "Why would you risk something like that?"

"The more knowledge we gain now, said Lexaeus, "the less future generations have to suffer. We are paving their way."

"What can we expect from the defense mechanism?" asked Saïx.

"An explosion of power," explained Lexaeus. "Axel, for instance, might cause a literal explosion. For you, Saïx, it is more difficult to tell, thanks to your...unique ability. Perhaps nothing at all will happen, unless underneath a full moon."

"So what—"

Axel's question was cut short by the creak of an opening door. Zexion stood in the doorway looking rather stiff, rather serious. More than usual, which was no small feat.

"Axel," called the boy, "Vexen and I require your assistance. Lexaeus, do you mind?"

Lexaeus gestured a dismissal toward Axel and turned his full attention toward Saïx.

Axel stood from his chair and rolled a shoulder, stretching it out, before walking to the doorway.

Zexion nodded down the hall, and Axel took the hint to follow.

"You're being awfully mysterious," said the man, out of earshot of the library. "What's this about?"

Zexion spared not a word.

"Man, and I thought you were quiet before," sighed Axel. "Am I in trouble for something?"

"No," said Zexion. "In fact, quite the opposite. It is because we trust you that we are giving you this responsibility."

"Huh..." Axel narrowed his eyes skeptically. "I thought the old geezer didn't like me."

"He doesn't," admitted Zexion. "Not very much, at least. But he does trust you."

When they reached Vexen's study, they found it dark. The curtains were drawn closed and the fire was out.

The moment that they entered, Eraqus, who had been sitting in the corner, closed the door and locked it behind them.

Axel's eyes scanned the room, relying on the smallest break in the curtains to illuminate the faces surrounding him. "Okay..." His eyes landed on Zexion, Vexen, Eraqus, and back again. "You guys are kinda creepin' me out. What's the deal?"

"You've noticed the disappearances, surely," prompted Vexen.

"Xigbar and Xaldin?" asked Axel. "Kinda hard not to. What—"

"Dead," Zexion explained quickly. "Both of them."

Axel took a step back, his eyes narrowed. "You're kidding. What happened? They weren't—"

"Murdered?" offered Vexen. "As a matter of fact, yes. They were."

"Whoa, okay." Axel's gaze darted between the three. "You guys don't really think that I—"

"No, Axel," came Eraqus' fatherly voice. "We do not think that you were the one responsible. Not in the slightest. In fact, you are here because you are one of the least likely to be our murderer."

"Least likely?" Axel stood up straighter, slightly less defensive, but only slightly. "So what is this? Are you trying to get me to figure out who it is or something?"

"Not hardly," said Vexen, looking down his nose at the man. "We know very well who it is."

"Who?" asked Axel.

Eraqus' expression darkened. "Xemnas."

"The new guy?" Axel crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Huh. You know, somehow, that doesn't surprise me. So, what's the real reason I'm here?"

"It's difficult to explain right now," said Zexion. "In fact, if we tried, you would undoubtedly refuse. I do hope you will be able to forgive us for this eventually."

It was in this exact moment that everything in Axel's environment began to add up.

No fire. Not only was the room dark, but it was cold, and that chill had already begun to take its toll on him.

Curtains drawn, making it impossible to see outside, or for anyone else to see inside.

A locked door, and no key within reach.

"What the _hell _is going on?!"

* * *

Despite the fact that the primary reason Roxas went into the basement was to ask questions, he found that he was not the only one with questions to be answered.

"So, who's the king now?"

Axel looked at Roxas expectantly.

"That's...kind of complicated," admitted the boy, averting his eyes to the floor in thought. "The last queen died without an heir, so the husband of some distant relative of hers took the throne a couple of years ago, but he doesn't even speak English, so we've got this guy, Prime Minister Yen Sid, in charge of everything now."

Roxas lifted his head, and when he did, he was surprised to find Axel with a strangely subdued expression, like he was...disappointed.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm?" Axel lifted his head. When he realized he'd been zoning out, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry. Guess I just didn't expect things to be so different."

Roxas would have understood that, provided it had been the truth, but something in the way that Axel avoided his gaze told him otherwise.

* * *

"So..." Vexen lowered himself onto the edge of their borrowed bed. "You can speak English now?"

Zexion opened his book and flipped through the pages until he landed on one specific blank leaf. "Not quite," he said after a moment. "I am only reading a translation."

"And that book translates for you?"

"Of course."

"And the others?"

"The black one, the Untitled Writings, is merely an anthology of fictional works," explained Zexion. "As for the gold one, the Atlas of Omens, it shows me maps."

"Maps?" quizzed Vexen."

"Yes," said Zexion. "Maps of things to come, of the directions that can be taken and the destinations that they lead to."

Vexen rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced. "So what you are saying is that it tells you the future?"

"In a way," said Zexion. "It tells me several possible futures. Some can be avoided, but others cannot. And some pages are more detailed than others. Some show pictures of people or of objects. Some even show poems or songs yet to be written."

"And just how much time did you spend in the shadow of that church, researching your maps?" asked Vexen. "You must have them memorized by now."

"No," said Zexion. "I was simply trying to follow the path that was most likely to lead to my preferred outcome."

"That being?"

Zexion managed a small smile, still looking at the book. "You haven't realized it by now?" he asked softly. "Traveling with you, of course."

* * *

"Hey, what's with that look?"

A nudge to Roxas' shoulder snapped him out of his trance. When he turned his head, he was met by Axel's playful smirk, his wrist inches from where it had just pushed against Roxas' arm. Though his lips were pulled into a playful smile, his eyes told a more sincere truth. "You look like someone just drowned your goldfish."

"Sorry," said Roxas, touched by his concern, but feeling silly that it was necessary at all. "I guess..." He sighed. "I guess I've just been away from home for too long. I'm really starting to miss having my brother around."

"Homesick, huh?" asked Axel, earning a nod. "I get that. I used to feel that way all the time. Guess I still do sometimes, but I'm pretty used to it by now." A dark, terse laugh pushed past his lips. "Man, that sounds terrible."

Roxas shook his head. "No, it doesn't," he said. "You've been down here a long time. If you didn't get used to it eventually, you'd go crazy."

"Guess so." Axel lifted his head to look at the ceiling. "It still makes me feel bad, though," he admitted. "I got over missing my family, but there's still something dumb that I never stopped missing."

"Really?" Roxas inched closer, curious. "What's that?"

"The sun," said Axel. "Especially the sunset. If I ever get out of here, I'm never missing another one."

"You _are _getting out of here," said Roxas. "I'm not giving up until we all are. Then you, me, and Xion can find someplace really high and watch one together. Like a cliff by the ocean, or the roof of the tallest tower we can find, and we'll sit up there and eat cinnamon rolls."

Axel laughed softly and lowered his head, shaking it, perhaps in disbelief, but perhaps only in amusement. "Tell you what, Roxas," he said. "Make it ice cream, and you've got a deal."

"...What's ice cream?"

"Man, you are missing out big time."

* * *

Riku awoke with a start.

It was far from the first time he'd relived the night he'd been blessed by that strange, pink-haired Ankou, and it was certainly a welcome break from the nightmares that had plagued him over the past several days, but still, it had been a terrifying experience at the time.

Honestly, the least Marluxia could have done was warn him.

Not that he had any right to complain, really. The invulnerability had come in handy more than once, and, well, he certainly didn't bemoan the fact that Sora had been fascinated with his unnatural, silver hair from the day that they met and continued to compliment it often.

And speaking of Sora...

Riku pulled the boy in his arms closer to his chest and buried his face in his hair. Spiky, brown locks tickled his cheeks as he indulged in his guilty pleasure, the only thing that had made his nights bearable since the incident in the forest.

Since that horrible evening, Riku had spent every night at Sora's house. His parents hardly noticed he was gone, and Sora hadn't questioned it once, even when Riku had timidly requested to share his bed. Of course, that didn't mean that Sora wasn't worried. It was in his nature to put the needs of others before his own, and he'd been able to tell right away that something was wrong. Riku had tried to convince him many times that he was fine, but every attempt had been met with a skeptical frown and an elbow to the ribs. Still, that was as far as Sora had pushed it.

It was a blessing that Sora had been so understanding. Having him within reach every time Riku was haunted with visions of Sora's death was a great relief. Every time he woke from one of those dreadful dreams, he'd simply pulled Sora close, felt him warmth, heard him breathe-and, on occasion, snore-and he would be able to remember that Sora was alive and, though not exactly well, _getting better_. Certainly not dying in Riku's arms in the depths of a white forest.

And what's more, Sora had always been able to sleep through his needy clinging. There were no awkward questions to answer, no nerve-wracking discussions to have...until that night.

"Nngh, Riku?" Sora stirred in Riku's arms and tilted his head back to get a good look at his childhood friend in the din of his bedroom. Riku was quick to pull his arms away, but the damage had already been done. Sora was already pushing himself upright, tiredly rubbing an eye with the heel of his right hand.

"I..." Riku searched for an excuse, some credible reason as to why he'd been onto Sora so tightly like that. "Erm..." He found none.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Sora, his hand falling to his lap.

"I'm okay," insisted Riku, rolling over and praying that Sora would leave it at that, just as he had any other time he'd voiced concern. He pressed his eyes shut, his entire body facing away, half-curled into himself. "Just go back to sleep, Sora."

"No," said Sora, his voice gentle. Riku felt a hand on his arm. "You're not okay. We've known each other our whole lives, Riku. You really think I'm not going to notice when something's wrong?"

"It's nothing to worry about," insisted Riku.

"Uh, it kind of is," pressed Sora. "You came home crying, Riku. I don't think I've ever even seen that before. And you haven't gone back to the forest since. You've been sleeping in my bed for days, _and_..." He sighed heavily. "And you have nightmares."

Riku's eyes opened slowly. He stared into the flickering firelight near the door. "...How do you know about that?"

"You wake me up," said Sora. "Every time. I just didn't want to say anything because you always seemed so scared. I didn't want to make it worse."

Hesitantly, Riku rolled onto his back and looked up to find Sora hovering over him, his features pinched with concern.

"So why tonight?" asked Riku.

"Because you're not shaking tonight," said Sora. "I've had enough of it. It's freaking me out, Riku. Whatever happened out there, it's seriously got you bugged, and I wanna know what it is."

"It's nothing—"

"Cut it out, Riku!"

Riku's eyes widened. Even in the dim light, he could see the desperation in Sora's face. He seemed a little scared, almost...sad. It sank deep into Riku's stomach, twisting it with guilt.

"You need to tell me what's going on," said Sora. "Tonight. I can't take it anymore. I love you too much to see you like this."

"Wh—"

"You know that. We've been best friends for forever."

_Oh._ Riku closed his eyes, taming his pounding heart._ Of course. What was I expecting?_

"So are you going to let me help you or not?"

When Riku opened his eyes, Sora's were mere inches away.

"You wouldn't believe me," he said.

"Try me," said Sora.

Riku sighed and forced himself to sit up, Sora leaning back to give him space. "We're gonna need some tea for this."

Within a few minutes, Riku and Sora were at the kitchen table, staring each other down from opposite ends, each holding a warm cup of weak black tea in their hands. They'd been like this for quite a while, neither looking away, even to take a drink from his cup.

"Spill," said Sora, sudden enough to make Riku jump.

"Uh..." The latter cleared his throat. "Right..." He couldn't tell Sora the whole story. He knew that. There were more secrets involved here than his own. He had still been trying to figure out which parts he could tell. "How would you feel if I died?"

Sora's immediate swap from an expression of determination to one of horror made Riku instantly regret how he'd chosen to open the conversation. He stumbled over his words before they'd even formed in his mouth, too distracted by Sora's wide eyes, the pallor that even whitened his lips.

"W-Wait, sorry, let me start over—"

"It'd _kill _me, Riku," said Sora, leaning so far forward that it almost seemed as if he were trying to walk through the table. "I don't even want to _think _about something like that, I..." He hung his head, and his grip tightened around the cup in his hands. Riku could see his knuckles turn white. "I don't know if I'd ever be able to stop crying."

Riku doubted those words; Sora was far too strong to let anything bring him down for long. "It's the same for me," said Riku. "If I ever saw _you _die, I mean."

"Why?" Sora shook his head mournfully. "Why would you ask that? Why are you even _thinking _about that?"

"Because, Sora," said Riku, "I _did _see you die."

Sora lifted his head, clearly and understandably baffled. "But—"

"There's something in that forest," explained Riku. "Something that doesn't want me there. I got..." He averted his eyes. "I got a warning from someone about it. I wanted to ignore the warning because I wanted to find Roxas, but..."

"But?" pressed Sora.

"I guess I ticked whatever it is off," continued Riku. "It pulled me into some kind of illusion, I think. I mean, that's what it had to be if you're not really..." He shook his head. "I don't know if it was supposed to break my spirits or if it was a warning about what might happen if I went back, but whatever it was..."

"What did you see? I mean...exactly."

"Sora, I really don't want to talk about it."

"Please?" begged Sora. "I want to help. Maybe if I know what happened, I can prove to you that it wasn't real. Something that'll stick."

Riku lifted his head in a feeble attempt to send Sora a stubborn glare, but the second he met those blue eyes, he knew he couldn't say no. "All right."

He sighed in submission. "I was on my way home from the forest when I saw 'you'..._that _you...lying on the ground. You—_it_—was half frozen to death, but still, you know, conscious. Aware enough to talk, at least. I wrapped you in my coat and tried to carry you home and get you warm, but..."

Riku closed his eyes, but he could still hear Sora lean across the table again. "But?"

"You..." Riku took a deep breath.

"I...?" prompted Sora.

"You...died. You died in my arms." His pulse quickened, and along with it, his speech. "I was so helpless. I couldn't do anything. All I could do was _watch _and _cry _and—"

The feeling of warm hands against his cheeks made Riku's eyes fly open. Perhaps if he hadn't been so panicked, he would have heard Sora walk around the table.

"I'm here," whispered Sora from where he knelt next to Riku's chair. "You can feel me, right? I'm not even cold. And I'm definitely not freezing to death anytime soon. I don't even think I have a fever right now."

Hesitantly, Riku reached down to check for himself. Sora's cheek was slightly cool, perhaps, but he knew it wouldn't be if not for the fact that Riku had been cradling a hot cup of tea. Sora was right: No fever.

"I'll be back to normal in no time," said Sora, his kind voice an anchor to Riku's racing thoughts. "You'll see. Maybe I'll even be well enough to _help you_ look for Roxas soon."

Riku set his cup on the table, freeing his hands to squeeze the two that held his face. "Maybe...we should wait until then before we start searching again," he said softly. "I don't want to leave you alone right now. I'm afraid that the...whatever it was that made me see that illusion...might really hurt you."

"Sure thing," said Sora, smiling. "Then I'll be able to look after you, too."

Riku smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'll probably need you to."

"You'll definitely need me to," said Sora with a soft laugh. Ignoring the way that his legs shook, he stood and pressed his lips to Riku's forehead. Even such a chaste, platonic show of affection was enough to earn a blush. "You're not getting rid of me that easy, okay, Riku?"

"Y-Yeah," said the boy. "Okay."

"Good," said Sora. "Now we can talk about happier stuff while we finish our tea. Like spring. I bet it's gonna be great after a crummy winter like this."

* * *

"Okay, Roxas. Show me what you got."

"W-What?"

Axel gestured vaguely with the hand unoccupied by fire. "Your light. Come on, you think I haven't figured out why you were asking all those questions? I know you've been practicing for a while now. I want to see what you can do."

Roxas laughed nervously. "Actually, I..." He sighed, turning his face away. "I haven't learned anything."

"What?" Axel nudged his shoulder, which surprised him, considering he'd just expected Axel to roll his eyes and call him 'slow' again. "You're kidding me. After all that?"

"I guess I still just don't know where to start," admitted Roxas, his eyes on the ground. "I guess it's because I..." He shook his head. "...don't know how to make myself happy."

"Don't I make you happy?" asked Axel. Another surprise; it actually sounded like he cared about the answer. "Doesn't Xion?"

"Sure, I guess," mumbled Roxas. "But when you guys aren't around, I just...don't feel anything at all."

"I know what that's like," admitted Axel quietly. "But come on. If you're happy enough around me and Xion, that's where you should be practicing, right?"

"I guess so," conceded Roxas.

"So give it a shot right now," said Axel. "While you're down here. Maybe it'll make a difference."

"But I don't..." Roxas trailed off. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Axel by trying and getting no results. Sure, he liked Axel, and he was starting to think of him as a friend, but that didn't change the fact that Roxas was still a little intimidated by him.

"Here," said Axel, moving away from the wall to turn his body toward Roxas. "I'll help you."

Roxas straightened his back, suddenly alert. "Really?" He gaped at Axel. What was going on? He seemed so open. It wasn't like him. Not the Axel that Roxas knew, anyway. "Why?"

"Why?" echoed Axel, raising an eyebrow with a steady smile. "Why wouldn't I? We're friends, aren't we?"

A pleasant warmth crept up Roxas' neck and into his face, burning his ears. Axel had never actually called him his friend before. In fact, the last Roxas knew, Axel had described Xion as being his one friend. What changed?

Roxas almost addressed that question, but before he got the chance, Axel steered the conversation away.

"So, are we doing this or what?"

"Oh!" Right. Practicing. "Sure. What do I do?"

"Start by putting your hands out," said Axel. "Like you're holding something in them. That's how I started."

Roxas did as he was bid, holding each hand out, palms parallel to the floor, like he was holding a ball of yarn.

"All right, now remember what I asked you the other day?" asked Axel. "Think back to when I asked about your happiest memory. And don't just say your brother again. It's not specific enough. How about a first hunting trip?"

"I never went hunting," admitted Roxas. "Sora and I were farmers."

"You gotta be kidding me," said Axel. "Give me _something _to work with. There's nothing exciting about _farming_."

"You're telling me," replied Roxas, a smile at his lips.

"All right..." Axel tried again. "How about your friends back home? Think about some kind of mischief you got into, or—"

"Uh..." Roxas chuckled shyly. "I didn't really..._have _friends. My mom kind of had this...reputation, and...the whole village avoided my family. Sora was still able to make a couple of friends, even with everyone hating us like that, but that's because he's Sora. It's hard not to like him."

"What kind of a reputation would make the whole village avoid you?" asked Axel.

"Uh..." Roxas forced a hesitant smile. "Sora and I were born out of wedlock, so—"

"You're kidding," said Axel.

Roxas winced. He hadn't just messed everything up, had he? Not when Axel was finally starting to open up—

"People still get wound up about stuff like that?"

Roxas' eyes widened. He stared at Axel for a long moment, trying to determine whether he really meant what he said. "Uh, yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, they do."

"Shit, Roxas." Axel shook his head. "No wonder you couldn't figure out your light on your own. Your life stinks."

Roxas laughed softly, only realizing that his shoulders had tensed up now that they were relaxing. His hands dropped to his lap. No one had ever brushed off his family's reputation like that. Not even the few travelers that managed to find their way to Sublustris. Axel was one of a kind.

"All right..." Axel said thoughtfully. "Uh... How about this? What do you call someone who's just got a nose and no body?"

Roxas blinked. "What?"

"What do you call someone who's just got a nose and no body?" repeated Axel, slower this time.

"Uhh..."

"Nobody knows."

Roxas stared at Axel for several seconds, watching the firelight flicker against his face while his brain ran at double-time, trying to figure out if what Roxas heard was what he thought he heard.

And then the laughing started.

It all burst out at once, completely uncontrollable. Not for want of trying. Roxas deliberately tried to quiet himself, to make sure he didn't alert Xemnas to his presence in the basement, but any attempt to stifle the laughter only made it briefly turn into a slightly-quieter giggle-fit before it overpowered him and rose back to full volume.

"Geez, Roxas," said Axel. "It wasn't _that _funny."

"Exactly!" managed Roxas between cackles. "It wasn't even a _little _funny! It was _so bad_!"

"Hey!"

Roxas wrapped his arms around his middle and doubled over, shaking his head. He didn't speak again until his uproarious laughter dissolved into smaller chuckles.

"I knew you couldn't be _completely _perfect," he admitted. "But _wow_... Axel, you _suck_. I've _never _heard a joke that bad before, and I live with _Sora_."

Axel chuckled softly, echoing Roxas' laughter. "Man, you are one tough crowd." The small smile on his lips faded slowly.

"Hey, Roxas..."

"Yeah?"

"What was your mom like?"

Roxas stopped laughing almost immediately. "What?"

"It's not like you _have_ to tell me," said Axel. "You brought her up, so I thought I'd ask."

"Oh." Roxas gripped handfuls of Xion's coat. He hadn't talked about his mother in a long time. Not even to Sora. But now that Axel had asked, he felt strangely compelled.

"Well..." He took a deep breath. "She was smart. Really, really smart. Sora and I never met our dad, but apparently, he was some kind of tutor, and he taught our mom all kinds of things. She knew how to read and write, the differences between certain kinds of plants, how planets move..." Roxas smiled nostalgically. "And she was nice, too. She never blamed anyone for hating her, and she told Sora and I that we shouldn't blame them, either. She only ever said that they were set in their ways and that nothing we could say would change that, and it didn't make sense for us to be mad when it wouldn't change anything. And she said that she wouldn't let them feel guilty, because she was glad that me and Sora were born, and it didn't matter how it happened." He sighed. "She was way too forgiving. I guess that's where Sora gets it."

"You, too," said Axel.

Roxas faltered. He'd been so caught up in what he'd been saying that, for a second, he'd forgotten that anyone was listening. "Huh?"

"You're way too forgiving," said Axel.

Roxas shook his head. "What are you talking about? Is this about the burns? Because that was an accident, and they don't even really hurt anyway—"

"Even if they don't," said Axel, "I still burned you. What you said before, about me being perfect..." He glared at the wall to his left. "You couldn't be more wrong. If there's anyone out there who's the complete opposite of perfect, as far from perfect as anyone could ever get and farther, you're looking at him."

Roxas could only stare. Where had this come from? Had Axel's self-esteem always been this low? "Axel, I think you've been down here too long."

"The day we met, when you walked down here the first time, I could have killed you," said Axel. "And Xion..."

"Xion loves you," said Roxas.

"She lost her hand because of me."

_What?_

Roxas furrowed his brow, trying to understand. Lost her hand? But she wasn't missing either of her hands, was she? Sure, she always kept them covered, but he could have sworn he'd seen both of them move like normal hands. "What are you talking about?"

"Her hand," said Axel. "Her right hand. It's not real."

"How can it not be real?" asked Roxas. "It looks—"

"Don't always believe what you see," said Axel. "Get Xion to take her gloves off. Then you'll see how _perfect _I am."

Roxas sighed, exasperated. The evening had started out so promising, and now it just seemed like Axel had made up his mind to hate himself. "Fine," said Roxas. "I'll tell her to show me."

Axel didn't even look at him. He just kept staring at the wall.

Roxas shook his head. "I'll take a look, but only because I want to be able to come down here and prove to you that it doesn't matter. You're still Axel, and whatever you did back then doesn't matter now. It's in the past."

Still nothing from Axel. He kept glaring at the wall. The only motion he made was to curl his hand into a fist and extinguish the flame.

Roxas turned around silently made his way to the stairs, guiding himself by keeping his hand on the wall.

When he reached the top of the stairs, rather than leaving through the stairwell door, he simply sat there at the top, staring at the backs of the dusty paintings and going over every word he'd said that evening in his mind, wondering if there was anything, anything at all he could have done differently that would have made that night end as smoothly as it had started.

Nothing at all came to mind.

* * *

"Zexioooooon!"

Demyx's sudden and unlikely appearances had become the norm for Vexen and Zexion during their stay in Agrabah, but that day, his appearance had been _particularly _unlikely. They—or, rather, Zexion—had tried to find him in the city before they left to join the caravan, but they had been unsuccessful. It was a miracle that they had been found just beyond the city limits.

Demyx ran frenetically, legs struggling against the sand. When he caught up, he wasted no time in pulling Zexion into a tight embrace.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, pushing a very startled-looking Zexion away by the shoulders. "We might never see each other again. Kinda rude, leaving without even saying goodbye, don'cha think?"

Zexion frowned, his eyebrows knotting as he struggled to translate Demyx's quickly-spoken jumble of words with the sparse English he'd managed to teach himself with the White Tome. "I'm sorry," he said slowly, his voice slightly more accented than usual. "We did search."

"Well, apparently, not hard enough," said Demyx, pouting. "Just... Just—!" Without warning, he yanked Zexion back into his arms

Several silent seconds passed, neither daring to break it. Even Vexen held his tongue.

"This is so dumb," said Demyx at last. "You're, like, the best friend I've ever made and I've only known you for three weeks. And I don't even know if you can understand what I'm saying."

It was true, Zexion could not understand many of the words, but he understood the emotion behind them, and it was that understanding that convinced him to slowly, uncertainly, wrap his arms around Demyx, reciprocating the amicable embrace.

It wasn't until the caravan began to move that Zexion reluctantly moved away. He took a cautious step backward, his gaze still locked with his friend's, because looking away meant losing him forever.

Hurriedly, Demyx removed something from his shoulders: The large satchel Zexion and Vexen had seen him wearing from the first moment that they met. He held it out for Zexion to take, smiling sadly.

"I want you to have it," said Demyx. "For your books." He laughed, a bittersweet sound. "_Non lo vuoi_?"

Expressionless, but with a shaking hand, Zexion reached out and wrapped his hand around the strap, his fingers curling inward slowly. He pulled it tight to his chest with a deep, heavy sigh.

"Goodbye, Demyx," he said softly, thunder rumbling from the thick cloud cover overhead.

"Yeah." A raindrop splattered against Demyx's cheek. "Bye, Zexion."

The following night marked the only time in known history that there had ever been a flood in Agrabah.

* * *

When Xion appeared at Roxas' bedroom door the following night to allow him the use of her coat as was the usual routine, Roxas was waiting for her. He may have lacked the courage to confront Xion the night before, but this time, he was ready.

"Xion?" he prompted once the door was closed.

The girl's gaze softened immediately, having seen that something was wrong. "Are you okay, Roxas?"

"Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck. Even a full day had not been enough for him to figure out what he was going to say. "It's just... Axel and I were talking last night, and...he started saying these things about himself, and when I tried to cheer him up, I think I just made it worse, and he just told me..."

"Told you what?"

Roxas averted his eyes. "He...told me to look at your hand."

"He wants you to..." When Roxas looked back, Xion was gripping one hand with the other.

"I'm sorry," said Roxas. "I wouldn't ask, except I get the feeling he won't talk to me until I know what happened."

"He probably thinks you won't like him anymore," said Xion, her voice small.

"That's not going to happen," said Roxas sharply. "No way. Whatever he did to you, you forgave him, right? So I will, too."

"There wasn't anything to forgive," said Xion. "It... It was an accident."

Roxas took a hesitant step closer. "Can I...?"

Xion pulled her hands tight against her chest. "You have to promise me something first."

"What?"

"You have to promise...that you won't hate me," said Xion. "Promise that you'll still be my friend if I show you."

"Why would I—"

"Promise me, Roxas," begged Xion. "Please."

"I promise," said Roxas, his voice firm. "You're my best friend, Xion. Of course I won't hate you. Especially not of something like what your hand looks like."

Xion bit her lip. "It's not because of what it looks like," she said softly, removing the leather glove from her left hand. That one looked completely normal. Pale, feminine, five fingers of expected length...not even a broken fingernail to speak of. "It's...because of what it means."

The second glove was removed, and Roxas began to wonder whether he was dreaming.

What Roxas saw in place of Xion's right hand was...vaguely hand-shaped, admittedly, but it was remarkably jagged. It reminded Roxas of a whittled toy he and Sora shared as children, but instead of painted wood, it was made of what appeared to be shimmering crystal. When

Roxas reached out to touch it, however, and his hand was greeted with a wintery bite, its true makings were revealed.

"Ice?" asked Roxas, turning the diaphanous shape over and inspecting the opposite side. "Your hand's made of ice?"

Xion refuse to meet Roxas' eyes. Instead, she stared at their joined hands, looking as though she were on the verge of tears. "It's...not just my hand."

The opposite hand, the normal-looking one, set the gloves on top of the nearby chest of drawers before reaching for Roxas' free hand. Her left, though much smoother, was just as cold as the hand Roxas already hold. When Xion guided that hand to her face and held it there, her cheek bit into his skin just as fiercely as a winter gale.

"Xion, what...?"

She smiled, but it was melancholy. She seemed...broken. "I'm not real, Roxas. This thing... What I am... I'm just a doll. A puppet made from ice."

"How...?"

"My father..." She shook her head, moving Roxas' hand along with it. "No, my creator, Vexen, was...a very smart man. He and Zexion both were. They traveled a lot. I already told you that." She lowered his hand and turned her face away. "While they were traveling, they found...something. Zexion said that they were something like memories that somehow got lost in time. Zexion found them, and Vexen pieced them together. When he named them, it gave them a spark of life. A _shem_. A heart."

Xion pulled her hands away and turned around, hugging herself around the middle. "Zexion found a way to look for the source of the memories, and Vexen sculpted a body for me out of ice, one that looked like the people those memories came from. When the heart was introduced to the body, it came to life. Zexion's illusions could make me look less like ice and give me a voice, and..." Her shoulders shook. "...here I am."

Not even so much as a finger twitched while Roxas listened, trying to register what he was hearing.

"A golem," whispered Xion. "That's what Vexen called me. He said...people made them long ago, just to prove that they could create life, that they could become gods. He told me that they couldn't talk or even think for themselves, and that the reason I can is because I was meant to exist, but _Xemnas _says—"

"I don't care what Xemnas said to you."

Roxas met Xion's frightened eyes and offered a kind smile in an attempt to assuage her worries. He held out both of his hands, hoping that she would take them.

"It doesn't matter what he thinks," said Roxas, "and it doesn't matter where you came from. You're Xion. My best friend. You introduced me to Axel, and you were the first reason I had to smile in this place. And it's not just that. You were the first real friend I ever had. If you think I'm giving all of that up just because of something like this, you're nuts."

Xion stared at the offered hands for an agonizingly long moment before she slowly, carefully uncurled her arms and reached out to take them in her own. "If you say so," she said, a shaky smile stretching her lips.

Roxas nodded firmly and squeezed her hands. "I do say so. Got it memorized?"

Xion giggled, and the tears that had welled in her eyes finally rolled down her cheeks. "I think you've been hanging out with Axel too much."

"What's so bad about that?" countered Roxas, grinning. Then, "Nah. You're right. I have been hanging out with Axel a lot lately. What if I spend the rest of the night here, with you, instead?"

"He's going to worry," said Xion, her voice softening. "He's going to think you hate him."

"I'll just apologize later," said Roxas. His thumb swept over Xion's right palm, tracing the jagged, icy surface. "How did this happen, anyway? You never told me."

Xion chewed her lip. "It really was an accident," she said. "Axel just got so mad one night. About everything. Being locked up, what Xemnas did to everyone else... Axel just...lost control. It was only for a second, but..." Xion looked down at her hand. "A second was all it took."

Roxas shook his head. "Axel thinks I'm going to hate him over that?" He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm gonna beat some sense into him tomorrow night." His smile returned. "I meant what I said about tonight, though. Just you and me. Sound good?"

"Okay." Xion smiled. "That sounds great."

* * *

Zexion and Vexen had simply been eating when they'd heard a handful of locals urgently discussing something that, for once, had nothing to do with the strange foreigners wandering the city. Or it didn't seem to, at least, when they weren't looking frantically in the travelers' direction after every other word.

"Zexion," whispered Vexen, looking at the boy to his left with a side-long glance.

The boy nodded and set his bowl aside to open the black book on his lap. His eyes began to scan the page, hurriedly keeping up with each translation before it could be replaced with the next frantic sentence.

"Curious," mumbled Zexion. "It seems that the Tung Shao Pass is haunted."

"Superstition at its finest," said Vexen dismissively, returning to his rice.

"Superstition, yes," said Zexion, "but there must be some reason behind the superstition. Naturally, it would not be the work of some angry spirit, but these people have witnessed occurrences that have sent them into a panic. Strange things."

"You will have to be more specific than that if you want me to take this seriously," said Vexen.

"Parts of a body have been found on the mountain," said Zexion. "Hands, eyes, strips of skin and muscle..."

"So there's a demented murderer on the loose," said Vexen. "Disturbing, yes, and plenty of cause for alarm, but nothing that we should volunteer to be involved in."

"I doubt that," said Zexion, "considering each of these people have seen those body parts appear and disappear before their eyes."

This seemed to catch Vexen's attention. Though there was still skepticism in his leer, he had managed to tear himself away from his meal. "And what, pray tell, could possibly have caused such supernatural events? What is your hypothesis?"

"Vexen..." Zexion narrowed his eyes at the book in his hands. "I am currently reading a translation from a book that only I can read. You once saved the two of us from a fire by building a tunnel of ice. Is it really so difficult to believe that someone else could have a similarly inexplicable ability?"

"Zexion, are you suggesting that there is a person in the mountains creating human tissue and leaving it here and there for people to find?"

"No," said Zexion. "I am suggesting that there is a person in the mountains with little to no control over where his own human tissue disappears to at any given time." He turned his head to meet his guardian's eyes. "I think, perhaps, we should consider earning his favor."

* * *

The night following his stay with Xion, Roxas returned to Axel's cell, just as he'd promised.

"It's me," he called gently.

"Roxas?" A flame bloomed, illuminating Axel's lithe form huddled in the corner. His eyes bore into Roxas' for a long moment before he dared to speak again. "I thought..."

"You thought I'd hate you for melting Xion's hand," supplied Roxas, the smile on his face unwavering. "And Xion thought I'd hate her for having a hand that could melt. Am I really that scary?"

Axel avoided Roxas' gaze, his eyes averting to the floor. "So why weren't you here yesterday?"

"I was with Xion," explained Roxas. "She was scared, and it's been a while since I spent the night with her instead of you anyway." He moved closer to Axel and sat across from him, his legs folded underneath him.

"Still think I'm 'perfect'?" asked Axel, his hardened gaze holding firm to the ground.

"You mean aside from your crappy jokes?" asked Roxas. "Yeah. Sort of."

Axel lifted his head, his brow furrowed with skepticism.

Roxas' smile stayed where it was.

"How can you still look at me like that?" asked Axel.

"People make mistakes." Roxas shrugged. "Losing control and getting someone hurt one time isn't enough to turn a good person into a bad one. How long ago did that happen, anyway?"

Axel looked at the ground again, scratching his temple with his index finger. His embarrassed silence was all that Roxas needed to hear.

"Come on," he said with a laugh. "We never got anywhere with practice last time."

Axel shifted his position until he sat with his back straight, his posture far more open than it had been. "Right," he said, leaning forward. "How far did we get?"

"I was trying to think of a happy memory," said Roxas. "We got...side-tracked."

"Right. Yeah." Axel's gaze dropped, but only for a moment. "Did you ever think of anything?"

Roxas chewed on his lip as he thought. A happy memory... Xion's smile after they talked? It was worth a shot, anyway. "Maybe."

"All right." Axel closed his fingers around the flame in his hand, dousing it and sending the two of them into pitch blackness. "Hold your hands out like you did last time and try to focus on your happy thought. Think about how it felt when it was happening and try to put yourself in the past. Convince yourself that that moment is still happening. Let that happiness fill you up."

Roxas frowned thoughtfully, his eyes closing. "Do you have to fill yourself with anger to make fire?"

"It gets pretty easy with Xemnas around," admitted Axel. "Look, this isn't about me. You gonna focus or not?"

"Yeah," mumbled Roxas. "Sorry." He took a deep breath.

Happy thoughts...

Let them fill him up...

Xion's smile...

"I think I've got it," he said. "Maybe."

"All right," said Axel. "Here's the tricky part. Try to picture all of that happiness inside of you, in your chest or your stomach or wherever you feel it most. Try giving it a color or something."

Roxas tried. Sky blue, like the glow that appeared when he unlocked a lock. He could see it swirling around his diaphragm, like leaves swept up in the wind.

"Now push that color down your arms and into your hands," said Axel, "but don't stop thinking about what makes you happy."

It didn't take long for Roxas to learn that Axel had been right; it was difficult.

The minute he started trying to picture his happiness as something physical, he lost sight of Xion's smile. And when he tried to get Xion back, he let go of the sky blue vision. A hot, frustrated breath hissed through his nose.

"Calm down, Kid," said Axel, his voice soothing. "You're not gonna be able to make yourself happy if you're too busy making yourself mad. _Breathe_. You got this."

Roxas tried to do what Axel told him.

He breathed.

He relaxed his tense shoulders.

And he thought.

For what seemed like hours, he did nothing _but _think.

He thought about Xion's smile.

He thought about her cheerful, cherubic face.

He thought about her friendship.

Friendship...

_"We're friends, aren't we?"_

The sound of Axel's voice seemed to fill his mind like the rising tide. It overtook everything. The blue light, Xion's smile... Everything was put to the wayside in favor of Axel's voice. At first, Roxas tried to fight it, but the harder he tried, the more he realized how futile it was, and the more he realized how ridiculous it was to try to push a happy thought out of his head when he realized that it was what he'd been looking for all along.

Axel's voice, the first acknowledgement of their friendship... It might have been the preamble to a disastrous conversation, but in and of itself, it had been almost hypnotic. Roxas could still feel the surreality, the flushed heat that burned his ears and cheeks. The memory was still so fresh, so present, so concrete.

A tingle ran down Roxas' arms, sparked along his knuckles, gathered in the space between his hands, and then—

_Pop!_

Roxas flinched, surprised by the sound and the accompanying bit of red that managed to bleed through his eyelids. Had he just been imagining things, or was that sound, like something made of thin glass shattering beneath a shoe, or the solitary crackle of a fireplace... Was that sound...?

Axel let loose a low whistle, and the flame returned, filling the room again with its orange glow. "Congrats, Kid. You could put a bored firefly to shame."

"Shut up," he mumbled through a grin, playfully shoving Axel's chest with the knuckles of his right hand. "So was that really...? I did it?"

Axel chuckled. "You did it."

Roxas grinned. So he really was like the Eraqus that Axel and Xion had known so long ago. He'd created light in the palm of his hand. Axel had been right. He had a gift.

A way to save Axel and Xion.

* * *

Author's Note: Even the most simple compliment, if paid at the correct time, can change a life.

Thank you, Sdb5ss.


	8. Ignite

**Chapter 8**

_Ignite_

He stood in the snow, body bare, slaughtered shoulders heaving with every labored breath. Each scar on his body ripped open at the slightest movement, sending fresh, hot blood rolling in droplets down his arm, only to seal themselves again once the movement settled, as if the skin had returned to its proper place from somewhere distant. A single, eyeless socket bled profusely, unyielding, like a dark waterfall down the right side of the frightful stranger's face.

"_Ni shuo ni neng bangzhu wo ma_?" gasped the man, his flesh on his left arm unraveling like a spool of thread. It disappeared into the unknown, leaving only bare bone behind. "_Dan yuan_..."

Zexion pressed himself closer to Vexen, clinging to his sleeve with the hand unoccupied by his white tome. Though his face and voice were neutral, they were belied by his body language; he was horrified. "He's saying," said Zexion, only the slightest hint of his accent remaining after only months of travel, "that he doesn't believe we can help him."

Vexen offered his free hand to the stranger, eyes narrowed. "There is no need to trust us," he said, Zexion following each word with a Mandarin translation, "but there is also no need to suffer these struggles alone. The hardships of your idiosyncrasies. The challenges of being different from all you know. I must ask, how long have you been living on your own in the snow, barely surviving? How much longer until your heart separates from you, or your lungs, or some other necessary organ? And what do you have to lose by trusting in two strangers?"

The scar-covered man looked down at the proffered hand, his functional eye narrowed into a skeptical glare. "_Weisheme yao bang wo_? _Shi shinme zai gei ni_?"

"He wants to know what benefit we get from this," said Zexion.

Vexen responded with a demonstration. The pale of frost crept down the sleeve of his tunic, along the hem of his cloak, the capelet, whatever was furthest from what warmth emanated from his core.

The stranger's eye widened.

"Perhaps you could use the same argument I used to convince you to join me, Zexion."

"I don't remember your words exactly," said the boy. "Too much time passed between that point and the point at which I obtained the White Tome. However, perhaps you could do the honors yourself."

Vexen watched with a great deal of curiosity as Zexion released his arm to gesture to the scarred man before them. The pages of his tome began to flip wildly, and a black smoke rose from within. It hovered in the air, coalesced into a cloud of black dust, and shot forward to wrap itself around the stranger.

The scarred man began to cough painfully, fanning away the dust with one hand while the opposite remained immobile at his side without muscles to control it. "What the hell did you do to me?!" gasped the man. His mobile hand shot to his throat. "The _hell_-?"

"To answer your question with my own voice, Sir," said Vexen, "I have always wanted to be a teacher, and I dare anyone to find a better student than one as desperate to understand as you. Not only that, but it would be a comfort, for Zexion as well as myself I am sure, to be joined by someone just as unusual, as...unique as the two of us. So, what say you?" Again, he offered his hand. "Will you travel with us?"

The scarred man turned the thoughts over in his mind for what seemed like an eternity, his every feature pressed into a scowl of contemplation. After several moments, however, he lifted his head with a confident smirk and stalked toward the two in the snow, leaving bare footprints behind. "You know what? Sure. Why the hell not?" Gradually, the skin from his arm began to reappear, spreading downward from his elbow to eventually envelop his fingertips. Though he regained the use of his arm, there was no sign of his eye. Perhaps that loss was permanent. "The name's Xigbar. Can't wait to start _learning _from you."

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," replied Vexen, almost glowing with pride. "We welcome you to our party."

* * *

Roxas hopped down the stairs eagerly, pulling his hood back the second his foot hit the bottom step.

"Axel!" he greeted beamishly. "Hey!"

He was greeted in turn by orange light, the same as always.

"You're here early," said Axel, smirking from behind the flame. "What's with the chipper attitude? Did Santa leave an extra toy in your stocking or something?"

Roxas chuckled warmly. "I can't be in a good mood?"

"In a place like this?" countered Axel skeptically. "Come on, spill it. What's the story?"

Roxas shook his head and took a seat on the floor in front of Axel, almost close enough for their knees to touch. "I'm learning about a part of myself that I should have had figured out a long time ago. You said it yourself. So why shouldn't I be happy?"

"Fair enough," said Axel. "Anyway, if you're in a mood like this, we might actually be able to make some real progress today. What do you think? Care to give it shot?"

Roxas nodded. "Yeah. Let's do it."

"All right." Axel closed his fingers around the fire in his palm, dousing the light and plunging the two of them into darkness. "Put your hands out like you did yesterday. Let's aim for a steady glow this time. Something that you can actually hold onto for a few seconds instead of that spark. Think you can handle that?"

"I can try," said Roxas, and he held out his hands.

He took a deep breath, focusing every joule of energy he had on the happiness he felt. He centered himself on the good mood that he was in and the way it made his pulse race. He thought about how excited he'd been all day at the prospect of spending the night with Axel, how he hadn't been able to stop his knee from bouncing or wipe the smile from his face no matter what he did.

Without the slightest bit of struggle on Roxas' part, a spark began to crackle to life between his open hands. It was unsteady, like an arc of electricity, and it almost sounded like it as well, considering crackling, but still, Roxas managed to keep it under his control without much effort.

Axel laughed softly with what sounded like surprise, maybe even pride, and Roxas couldn't hold back a grin in turn. The light even stopped crackling for a brief moment, holding steady and strong for no longer than a second. It wasn't long before it popped out of existence, filling the room once more with pitch black, but that didn't stop Axel's low whistle from echoing across the stone walls.

"Not bad, Roxas," said the man. "That's a lot of improvement for one day. Think you can show me one more time?"

"I can try." Roxas rolled up his sleeves, ignoring the bite of the frigid basement air. "Okay. Here we go."

* * *

"Ah, Xigbar. How is the eyepatch treating you?"

The man who had just walked in rapped the rigid cloth over his empty eye socket with a shrug. "A huge pain in my rear end," he admitted. "It really kicks it the rest of the way home that I'm not getting my eye back any time soon. But forget that for now. I think it's my turn to ask some questions, don't you?"

"Ask away," said Vexen, crossing his arms.

"All right," said Xigbar. "What's the deal with you and Shrimpy? Who are you two?"

"Zexion and I are travelers," explained Vexen. "We seek knowledge, as much as we can garner, and travel provides us with such. Nothing more."

"So you two just happen to be able to do crazy things with your mind?" A cut beneath Xigbar's left eye reopened, a strip of flesh disappearing. The world seemed to warp around the wound, as if it were giving off intense heat.

"We found each other by chance," said Vexen, "just as we found you. Both scholars, we shared a common interest. Zexion saved my life, and in return, I took him under my wing. The idiosyncrasies that we share are a mere coincidence."

"So how'd you find me?" asked Xigbar, blood dripping down his chin. "No one was supposed to be able to find me. I went into the mountains for a reason."

"You aren't as good as hiding as you seem to fancy yourself," said Vexen. "Rumors from the villagers alerted us to your presence. We merely followed the bread crumbs you left behind."

Xigbar scoffed. "More like people crumbs... So what's with this Tower of Babel crap going on with me right now? Is that his doing?" He pointed to Zexion, who was reclining on the bed, his nose deep in the Untitled Writings.

"It is merely an illusion," said Zexion. "The truth is, you aren't speaking English at all. I have only made it so that you are perceived as speaking English, just as we are not speaking Mandarin. My power over illusion is no different from Vexen's power over ice or your power over space."

"Space?" quizzed Xigbar. "Is that what's going on with me?"

Zexion nodded once, turning a page, his eyes never lifting from his book. "The name for what we are is 'Thaumaturge'. Vexen is a Frigorific Thaumaturge, I am a Fabular Thaumaturge, and you are a Vicissitudinous Thaumaturge."

"Vissy-what?"

"It means unstable," said Zexion. "Ever changing. As you are."

"So how do I control it?" asked Xigbar. "How do I master it like you two?"

"Through our comparisons," said Vexen," we have determined that the source of our ability comes from depth of emotion. Both of us tap into a certain emotion in order to call forth our abilities, and in order to contain them, we call upon the opposite emotion. In order to control your ability to bend space to your will, you will first need to ascertain what emotion calls forth that ability."

"Mistrust," said Zexion simply, turning another page. "Your manipulation over space comes from mistrust."

* * *

When Roxas next returned to the basement, he seemed almost a completely different person from who he was on his previous visit.

He walked quietly, almost silently if not for the sound of his hand sliding against the wall of the stairwell.

Axel illuminated the basement and everything in it, including his own face; his eyebrows were drawn together in concern. "Roxas? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Roxas, less than convincing, dropping his gaze with a shrug. He crossed the room to where Axel sat, dragging his feet with every step, and took a slow seat in his usual spot. "Let's just start."

"Start?" asked Axel. "As in start practicing something that needs happiness to work when it looks like you're as far from happy as you can get?" He shook his head, offering an encouraging smile. "Let's just take it easy for now. You homesick again?"

Again, Roxas shrugged. "Maybe a little," he admitted, "but...that's not really it."

"So what is?" asked Axel.

"I don't know." Roxas shook his head. "I've got a lot of time to kill during the day, so...I guess I just spend it thinking too much."

"About what?"

Roxas shrugged.

Axel nudged his uninjured shoulder with the hand that didn't carry flame. "Come on. Keeping it all bottled up won't help you. Just tell me what's on your mind. Get it out of your system."

Roxas hesitated for a long, quiet moment, debating with himself, before he finally admitted what was on his mind. "It's my mom."

"What about her?" pressed Axel.

"I was thinking about the day she, uh, passed," said Roxas quickly, trying to shrug off the question. "I know, it's stupid, you don't have to l-"

"Roxas, shut up."

Roxas flinched. He knew it was stupid, but he wasn't expecting Axel to be so-

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"...What?"

"Friends have to lean on each other every now and then," said Axel. There was something gentle in his eyes, something that Roxas couldn't quite put a name to. "What kind of a friend would I be if I wasn't even here to help you shoulder the small stuff? Come on, Roxas. Let it out."

Roxas couldn't help but stare, lips parted in surprise. Axel was so sarcastic most of the time that it was easy to forget how sincere he could be when push came to shove. A small, touched smile tugged at Roxas' lips. "Thank you." It was all he could think to say.

"There was a storm, right?" asked Axel.

"Yeah," said Roxas. "How did you know that?"

"Uh..." Roxas scratched the back of his head. "Xion told me. Sorry about that."

Roxas' smile only widened. That meant that Xion had been visiting him again. That was good to hear. "It's fine," he said, shaking his head. "Yeah, it was a storm." His smile had already begun to fade again. "I already told you that Sora and I were farmers. Before I left, all we did was raise crops, but back when Mom was still around, we had sheep, too." He took a deep, steeling breath. "When we realized how bad the storm was getting that day, we tried to herd our sheep in to the sheepcotes to keep them from getting hurt, and one of the ewes escaped." Roxas folded his arms over his chest, rubbing one of them absently while he spoke. "Sora and I ran after her, but it took a lot longer than we thought it would to catch her. We wound up cornering her in an alley farther into the city, but by the time we finally got back..." Roxas trailed off.

The silence in the cell was thick, heavy, to be permeated only by the crackle of the fire dancing in Axel's palm. Its wielder sat patiently in the dead air, unperturbed by the eerie soundlessness. Though Roxas never once looked up to meet his gaze, he could feel Axel's eyes on him while he waited, invested. There was no pressure, no insistence. It seemed he was willing to wait as long as it took for Roxas to continue his story.

Roxas swallowed hard, took another deep breath, and resumed. "There was...a shed behind our house where we kept our tools. Shears, scythes... And Mom went inside to grab something. Or maybe just to get out of the rain without being forced to huddle with the sheep, and... I... I-I guess the rain and wind was too much." Roxas closed his eyes. "It... It collapsed. With her still inside." He hunched his shoulders, curling into himself, his arms tightening around his midriff. "I don't even remember what happened after we found her. I guess I must have blacked out or something. But all I remember after that is seeing Sora gripping onto her like he could steal her back or something. Every time the lightning flashed, it lit up his face, and I saw him crying. His skin was covered in watery blood from her clothes. There was so much of it... Even with the rain washing it away, there was _still so much_-"

"_Roxas_."

At the feeling of a warm hand on his shoulder, Roxas lifted his head and forced his eyes to open. When he did, he found himself surprised that there was no rain down there with them. No wind. No mud. No storm to speak of. Just cold and dark, with the faintest warmth emanating from Axel's fire.

In Axel's face, he saw pain, features twisted and contorted, as if he had somehow just felt everything Roxas had all those years before. There was desperation in his eyes as they flickered across Roxas' face. Worry. Axel's grip tightened.

"I'm sorry," whispered Roxas, dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean to get so... I just... I got...swept away for a second."

"Yeah," came Axel's warm voice. "I noticed."

Several seconds passed in haunting silence before Axel was able to break it with a sigh.

"Look," he said, "I didn't mean to stop you. I still want to hear about this, so you can keep talking, but just don't lose yourself." His hand slid down to Roxas' elbow. "I've done that enough times down here to know it's far from fun."

Roxas dropped his hands to his knees and gripped his trousers. "I don't know if I can," he admitted, his gaze zeroing in on a specific stone in the floor. "I've never actually...talked about this before."

"Well, there's your problem," said Axel.

Curious, Roxas lifted his head, and when he did, he found Axel frowning at him.

"You can't just bottle things up like this, Man." He shook his head, red hair sliding to and fro across his shoulders. "Didn't you have anyone to talk to?"

"Well, Sora," admitted Roxas, "but...he was going through the same thing. And he had Riku and Kairi to talk to. They were able to help him, so he didn't need to talk to someone who was just as messed up as he was."

"So you just held it in for _years_, pretending that there was nothing wrong and trying to convince everyone that you were totally unaffected."

"Pretty much," sighed Roxas, dropping his gaze yet again to the floor. "Sora probably knew what was going on, but he never asked me about it. He was probably waiting for me to go to him." He laughed half-heartedly. "Sometimes, I kind of wish he didn't, but I know I can be kind of stubborn. He probably figured I'd push him away if he tried to help."

"You didn't push _me _away," said Axel.

"Yeah, well..." Roxas chewed his lip thoughtfully. Why _hadn't _he pushed Axel away? "I guess...it's probably because you didn't push me away, either. You didn't have to tell me about why Xemnas keeps you in here, but...you did. So why shouldn't I return the favor?"

Again, the room filled with heavy silence.

The sound of shuffling reached Roxas' ears, followed by jingling, and before Roxas so much as lifted his head to find out where it was coming from, the answer came to him. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into Axel's side. He was warm. Really warm.

"Roxas," said the man, his voice almost a whisper, "don't hesitate to talk to me, all right? You've got me from now until the end, whether you want me or not. We are best friends. Get it memorized."

Roxas lifted his head, despite the struggle to move it when Axel held him so tightly. Even in his sparse view from the side of Axel's face, he could read sincerity. Axel really meant it.

_Best friends, huh_?

"Okay," whispered Roxas, closing his eyes and leaning into Axel's warmth. "I trust you. But only if you trust me, too."

"I'll hold you to that," said Axel.

Roxas didn't respond, but then, he knew he didn't need to. All he needed was to rest his head against Axel's shoulder, and all of his pain, all of his morbid memories, seemed to flow out of him like water through a washcloth. Only warmth remained, warmth that he could indulge in for hours on end.

And so that was exactly what he did.

"I could fall asleep here," admitted Roxas after what must have been at least an hour of comfortable silence.

"Hm?" intoned Axel lazily.

"It's just cozy," said Roxas. "It's a little cold, but you're..." He trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. "No, never mind."

"What?" pressed Axel.

"It's silly," said Roxas.

"What happened to trusting me?"

"Come on, that's not fair."

"Sure it is," insisted Axel. "It's not like I'm gonna laugh."

Roxas sighed in submission. "I was just going to say...that you're warm. That's all." He shifted nervously. "It's nice. Especially when it's cold like this."

"I see," said Axel. He took a breath, his chest carrying Roxas' head through the rise and fall. For a second, it seemed as though he wanted to say something, but when he didn't, Roxas chalked it up to his imagination.

"I should probably get going soon," mumbled the boy.

"Yeah," said Axel, though he made no move to release Roxas' shoulder. "You probably should.

Roxas lifted his head, turning it to look at Axel's face. "I'll be back tomorrow, just like always."

"I know you will," said Axel, still avoiding Roxas' gaze. "I trust you."

Roxas couldn't have resisted smiling if he tried. "Yeah, I know." Grudgingly, he pulled himself out of Axel's hold and climbed to his feet. "I'll see you then, okay?"

"Yeah," said Axel, tilting his head back to finally look at Roxas from where he sat on the floor. "See you."

Though Roxas had let go of Axel's warmth, somehow, it had managed to stay with him. Not only for his walk up the stairs, not only the rest of the way into his room, but all through the night and well into the next day.

Somehow, it refused to let go.

* * *

Even from inside the cabin, Vexen could feel the rage of the storm. Honestly, it was a miracle that Xigbar hadn't woken up from all of the swaying and each crash of thunder that roared across the waves. It was certainly keeping _Vexen _awake, at least.

The man pulled himself upright. Doubtless, Zexion would be struggling to sleep just as much as he was. They did tend to have a lot in common, their sleeping habits included. However, when Vexen looked down beside himself to confirm his suspicions, he discovered that Zexion was much farther from sleep than he originally thought.

In fact, he wasn't in bed at all.

Thoroughly alarmed, Vexen jumped to his feet and rushed to where Xigbar lay. He began to frantically shake the man's shoulders, rousing him from his deep slumber.

"Huh? Wuzzat-"

"Xigbar," said Vexen roughly, "do you have any idea where Zexion might have gone?"

"The shrimpy?" Xigbar pushed himself upright, glaring around the room with a single bleary eye. "No way, man. I don't have a clue."

Clenching his teeth, Vexen whipped around and tore up the stairs, his undertunic flapping around his legs. He pushed the door open, unperturbed by the wind and rain that assaulted his face the second he stepped outside.

"Zexion!" he called out, barely audible over the roar of the storm. "Zexion, where are you?!" He charged onto the deck, scanning the area frantically. Even through the heavy rainfall, it only took him seconds to spot a small figure at the starboard side of the ship, his head tilted back to face the sky, a large book in his hands.

Vexen rushed to the boy's side and kneeled. The boy's shoulders in hand, he whipped him around. "There you are! What on Earth are you doing out here in this weather?"

"This isn't a natural storm," said Zexion effortlessly.

"This isn't- What are you talking about?"

Zexion turned his body toward the water and pointed into the sky. "See there."

Vexen narrowed his eyes, squinting to follow Zexion's gesture into the clouds. It was difficult to make out, but just as Zexion had implied, there was something there. A shadow. A surprisingly human-shaped shadow.

"What on Earth-"

"Another in need of our help, I have no doubt," said Zexion, eerily calm. "I've been trying to call out to him, but he doesn't seem to hear me. Most likely a consequence of the stormy weather."

A stomping sound echoed against the deck boards, catching Vexen's attention and turning him around. Apparently, Xigbar had deigned to put on his clothes before joining Vexen on the deck, though Vexen had to admit, it was honestly the best idea. At least one of them had managed to refrain from panic.

"I can get up there," said Xigbar once he'd been caught up with the situation, "but I'm not the one who knows the guy's language."

Zexion frowned thoughtfully. "I should be able to create another language illusion, but even if I can, are you certain you will be able to calm him enough for him to relinquish this chaos?"

"Easy peasy," said Xigbar. "Give me five minutes. I'll get it under control."

Vexen could hear the doubt in Zexion's sigh. "So be it," he said all the same and opened his tome.

As had been the case with Xigbar, the pages began to flip wildly, apparently of their own volition, whipping up a dark smoke that rose up and shot toward the floating man. It consumed him, depressed into his body, and then began to dissipate.

"Xigbar," said Zexion, his eyes affixed on the tumultuous man, "his fate is in your hands now."

"All right." Xigbar rolled his shoulders. "Time to put my teachings to the test."

The world seemed to warp around his body, light bending as if he were on fire, and he vanished, only to reappear in the sky, beside the airborne man. He walked on the air, gesturing toward the stranger with amicable gestures.

Vexen and Zexion watched with bated breath, fearful of the potential results of this venture.

In moments, however, the storm began to die out; the wind weakened, the rain's rage intenerated, and the man in the clouds stood taller, more in control for all to see.

When he arrived on deck with Xigbar at his side, he seemed stoic in comparison.

"Meet Xaldin," said Xigbar, a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Stormy-" He clapped a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "-these two are gonna help you. The shrimpy's name is Zexion, and the old geezer is Vexen."

Vexen-resisting the urge to counter Xigbar's moniker for him with a reminder that Xigbar was actually slightly older-held out a friendly hand in greeting. "Salutations, Xaldin," he said. "It is our deepest pleasure to welcome you."

* * *

When Xion bounced into the room, Roxas couldn't help but notice that something was different abound her. She seemed brighter, more eager than usual, particularly when she yanked Roxas into a cold, tight hug.

"Roxas," she said warmly, "thank you so much!"

"Whoa!" Roxas emerged from the embrace, his lips pulling back into a small smile. "What do you mean, 'thank you'? What are you talking about?"

"It's Axel! He's so much happier," said Xion, beaming. "He's talking to me more, and he actually seems glad when I visit him again, and that's because of you, Roxas. He's like a new person. Or an old one. He's the Axel I knew when we first met. I missed him so much, and you brought him back to me!"

Roxas shook his head. "What did _I _do?" he asked, still smiling all the same. "All I've done is talk to him."

"Exactly!" said Xion. "And it made all the difference in the world! He needed a friend, Roxas. Someone like you, who wouldn't judge him for being different or blame him just because he blames himself. He needed someone like that more than anything, even if he wouldn't admit it, and you were the perfect person for the job. Thank you."

Roxas laughed, gripping Xion's hands in his own. "You should thank yourself," he said. "It's because of you that I met Axel in the first place, and without you lending me your coat, I wouldn't be able to visit him at all. You're the one who made the real difference."

"No, it's you," said Xion, "I promise. I don't think anyone in the world could have made Axel smile again like he has been. This has to be destiny. You were meant to come here, Roxas. I know you were."

"Destiny?" Roxas laughed softly. "Come on, Xion. It's not a big deal."

"It is," said the girl determinedly. "Trust me. You'd know that if you really knew what Axel was like before you showed up." Pulling her hands back from Roxas, she unzipped her coat and shrugged it from her shoulders.

Roxas took it, his eyes on the black, shining surface rather than the girl across from him. "Do you think we'll ever be able to really hang out?" he asked. "All three of us?"

"Well, Xemnas doesn't leave the manor that much," admitted Xion, "but he does sometimes, so maybe we'll get lucky. Besides..." When Roxas looked up, she was smiling. "You're getting us out of here, right? Once we leave, we'll be with each other all the time."

"Yeah." That reminder filled Roxas with hope, and he found himself smiling again. "You're right. And we'll go somewhere far away from Xemnas. Somewhere he can't follow. And we'll get a house on the beach, where you can collect seashells and Axel can watch the sun set on the water every day."

"And we'll take your brother with us," said Xion. "That way, none of us could ever be happier."

"Right." Roxas grinned. "Well, Axel's waiting for me," he said, slipping his arms into Xion's coat.

"Give him a hug for me, okay?" asked Xion.

"No problem," said Roxas, tugging on the zipper and pulling the hood on over his head. "I'll see you when I get back."

"I'll be waiting right here."

* * *

The ball certainly was beautiful. There was no arguing that.

Red and orange banners decorated the walls and tables. The orchestra was full of skilled musicians well-versed in their art, every dancer deeply familiar with her steps. Everything was going exactly as was planned. Everything was absolutely faultless. Perfect.

Perfectly predictable.

A young Axel leaned against a wall-hanging tapestry, watching the crowd with ennui, absently popping phoenix fruit into his mouth. Truly, this was meant to be a coronation ball, simply a welcome to their new king, but Axel knew that the guests had been hoping for more, particularly the maidens. A large percentage of the ball, from the kingdom's subjects to his foreign allies, were hoping against hope that that night would be the night that the new king would find his future queen amongst his guests. Maidens, noble and peasant alike, flocked to the throne in droves, often with their mothers, in their futile attempts to entice the new king. Efforts were made to trap the king in conversation or to coax him into a dance, and Axel knew each effort to be made in vain. After all, he'd known the prince regent for his entire life, and Heaven knew he'd been involved in enough page-dodging distractions so that the prince regent could sneak out of the castle to spend a night with Sir Rudolph the Stoic. Judging by the heady side-long glances the two sent each other across the arm of the throne, none of this ridiculous peacocking was likely to have any effect on their covert relationship. If the king did choose a queen, it would be out of necessity to succeed the throne, not preference for one girl over the next. What was more, if Axel knew the recently-crowned king as well as he thought-and he was certain he knew the king quite well at this stage-then an heir was bound to be chosen at absolute random. No amount of flirtation would make even the slightest difference. No matter what any attendee might have hoped for, the king's coronation would be their only cause for celebration that night.

Cause for alarm, however, was something else entirely.

A loud clattering rang out, raising a commotion that rippled from the south side of the room. Gasps and cries rolled across the crowd like an ocean wave over so much sand, some outcries affronted, others terrified.

Captivated by curiosity, Axel dropped his dates to the floor and began to push through the terrorized crowd, desperate to see what had caused the commotion. The cause became clear quickly enough. A young man, perhaps Axel's age, stood doubled over in front of the balcony doors, moonlight pouring over his blue shoulders, staining his clothes and hair in pale luminescence. His entire body heaved, his fingers curled into claws and pressed hard into his own sides. With every exhalation, his body shuddered stiffly, like a man who was trying to bear too much weight.

His head jerked abruptly upright, baring a fearful grimace that sent another wave of terror through the ballroom, but Axel felt no terror, only further curiosity. His eyes scanned the face of the stranger, his pinched features, his monstrous teeth, his hollow eyes. He was an outcast, an oddity...much like Axel himself.

All at once, terror was replaced by panic as the stranger turned on his heel and jumped through the balcony doors, shattering the glass.

While everyone else pushed and shoved to get as far away from the perceived danger as possible, Axel was pushing the opposite direction. He weaved between people, desperate to follow the stranger, the one out of the millions of people Axel might encounter in his life who might be able to truly understand him, onto the balcony...but he was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, Axel ran across the broken glass, crushing it beneath his heel with each step, and leaned over the balcony railing. What he saw on the earth below drained the blood from his face.

Somehow, the stranger had managed to bound over the edge of the railing and land on the ground ten meters below without the faintest flinch, and he was not loping, animalistic, into the forest, seemingly uninjured by his long fall.

Axel stared, enraptured, for several awestruck seconds before he whipped around and rushed to the northern exit. He went the direction opposite of the castle's guests, through the southward corridor, and through the servant's entrance, the fastest route to the forest where the man had hidden himself. Doubtless, the guards were already hot on his trail, worried for his safety, provided they didn't have their hands too terribly full with the panicked party guests, thus he couldn't waste a moment for fear of being captured; he was in the forest long before a single footstep beyond his own was able to catch his ear.

Once sufficiently secluded beneath the canopy of the trees, Axel was able to take a breath, to try to dispel the aching stitch from his side, to determine his heading. He opened his palm outward in front of himself, illuminating the surrounding foliage with a tiny flame. The firelight indicated the stranger's path as clear as day; it would have been impossible to overlook the splintered wood and haphazard footprints left in the beastly man's maddened wake.

Before he could risk losing his target, Axel dashed off, following the bread crumb trail of splinters, keeping up a steady pace the best that he could despite the bite under his ribs.

The farther he ran, the more the chaos seemed to dissipate. In time, the splinters disappeared entirely, and Axel was forced to follow the muddy footprints, which seemed to draw closer and closer together until they eventually led Axel to exactly where he wanted to be.

The stranger sat at the edge of a clearing, leaning against a tree, careful to hide himself in its shadow. He was huddled into a ball, but not shaking, like Axel might have expected. He wasn't crying. He didn't seem scared in the slightest. If anything, the blue-haired boy seemed merely disappointed.

Axel banished his fire as he drew closer, closing his fingers around the flame.

"Hey, there," he greeted brightly. "What are you up to?"

The boy raised his head, fixing Axel with a pair of dark green eyes. "Not much," he replied coolly. "Sitting in the mud. Trying not to get caught in the moonlight and risk tearing up more of the forest. Waiting for a soldier to come along and pierce my heart with a silver arrow."

"Silver, huh?" Axel crossed the short distance in front of the other boy and squatted to perch on his heels, caring little for the mud he knew he was getting on his trousers. "You a werewolf or something?"

The boy scoffed. "Hardly," he said. "But that's what the guards will think after what occurred at the coronation."

"You're pretty calm for someone who's waiting for death to come."

"I've been waiting for it to come my whole life," said the boy. "It was just a matter of time before someone discovered my secret."

"Hmm." Axel's gaze wandered over the boy's form with curious eyes, eager to change the subject. "Let's see... Blue hair, pierced ears, and a crescent emblem. Going off your age, I'm gonna guess you're...Saïx of Cold Field. Am I right?"

"And you're Axel of Sublustris," replied Saïx by way of answer. "The apparently fearless Axel of Sublustris."

Axel laughed and stood up, offering his hand. "Well, you're not the only high society outcast."

Saïx eyed the hand warily. "What's this?"

"I'm helping you up."

"Why?"

"To find a hiding spot, loser."

Saïx narrowed his eyes. "To what end?"

"To the end of keeping you from dying. Duh." Axel grinned. "Or did you think I was just going to leave a new friend out here to fend for himself?"

Saïx allowed his eyes to close, and he laughed spitefully. "A new friend, am I?" He sighed and took the hand. "Well, then... In that case, perhaps I should take you up on your offer."

"Damn right you should," said Axel, casting formality to the winds. "And any future offers, too. Got it memorized?"

Saïx stared blankly.

"Good," said Axel. "Now come on. I know a cave not too far from here. It should last us for the night. I'll have everything else figured out by the morning. Promise."

* * *

Roxas pursed his lips, glowering at the pathetic sparkle between his hands. He was having so much trouble that day. More than usual. And he knew exactly why.

He sighed submissively and dropped his hands, his gaze rising to seek Axel's eyes in the darkness, not that he could see them. He probably would have been able to see a lot better if Axel had noticed that he'd given up and sparked his fire back to life, but he hadn't. He was distracted by something, apparently lost in thought, and when he was distracted, Roxas couldn't help being distracted as well.

"Axel," he called, trying to catch Axel's attention.

No response.

He leaned forward, shifting to sit on his knees so that he could grab Axel by his shivering shoulders and give him a firm shake. "_Axel_!"

"Hm?" There was a quiet _fwoosh_, and Axel's face came into view. "What's wrong?"

"That's what I want to know," said Roxas. "You're being a major zombie today. What's on your mind?"

Axel smiled. "A zombie? You're one to talk. What about a couple of days ago? Who was the zombie then?"

"Don't change the subject," said Roxas. "This isn't a couple of days ago. This is today. And when it _was _a couple of days ago, I _told you_ what was bothering me."

"Nothing's bothering me," insisted Axel.

Roxas wasn't buying it. "You said you trusted me. Was that a lie?"

Axel turned his face away. "That's not it," he insisted. "I wouldn't lie to you."

Roxas narrowed his eyes into a skeptical glare. "Look me in the eye and say that."

Axel forced himself to turn his face back to Roxas. "_I wouldn't lie to you_," he asserted. "I'm fine." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, dropping his gaze to the floor below. "Yeah, okay, I've got something on my mind, but it's just a memory."

"So tell me about it," said Roxas, his voice softening. "I want to help you."

Axel shook his head. "It's not that I don't trust you," he insisted before Roxas had the chance to protest. "It's just that talking would make it worse, all right? I'll tell you about it someday."

"Do you promise?" asked Roxas.

"Yeah," said Axel. "I promise."

Roxas exhaled softly through his nose and reached for Axel's hands. The fire within them died when his own hand wandered too close.

"Roxas?"

"Just come here," said the boy, wrapping his hands tight around Axel's and pulling gently. "Lay on the floor."

"Mind telling me why?"

"You said you trusted me," said Roxas. "So trust me."

Axel sighed audibly through the darkness, but gave no further protest, allowing Roxas to manipulate his body until he was flat on his back. Roxas slid his hands down Axel's palms to his wrists to unlock his manacles and set them aside to make Axel as comfortable as possible before he lied down as well, his body opposite of Axel's, his head by Axel's knees.

"So, uh..." Judging by the sound, Axel had shifted slightly. "What are we doing, exactly?"

"Just lying here," said Roxas. "It's something Mom made me and Sora do when we got upset when we were little. Sora and I still do it sometimes when we need it." Roxas wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Sora had done exactly that after his exile from Sublustris.

"What's the point?" asked Axel.

"To just relax," said Roxas. "Let your thoughts go wherever they want and talk about whatever you feel like talking about. It doesn't have to be whatever's bothering you. Just...whatever comes to mind. We're already doing it."

"Huh," intoned Axel, and then fell silent.

That was where they stayed for several minutes. Just lying there in the noiselessness and the stillness and the darkness. The floor was cold, but not much worse than sitting up had been, and Xion's coat was comfortable enough to cushion Roxas' bones from the stone beneath him.

It had been a long time since Roxas had last done this. Just lied on the floor with someone and forgotten the world. He took a deep breath and tilted his head back, relaxing all of his muscles and staring into the blackened void above them.

"You know," said Axel after a lingering moment, his voice soft as rose petals, "I do a lot of this stuff. Just sitting around and thinking. It's my whole life. Not much else to do down here, you know? So I was just humoring you when you pushed me down here, but...it's funny-it's actually helping."

"Told you," murmured Roxas, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

"Hmm." Axel's hand slid audibly across the stone floor. "Roxas..."

"Yeah?" Roxas turned his head, now facing Axel's legs.

"I'm, uh... I'm glad you're here."

Roxas laughed softly, but only from surprise, not ridicule. "That was _so _not you. Where did that even come from?"

"I'm just doing what you told me," said Axel, matter-of-fact. "Talking about whatever comes to mind."

Roxas tilted his head back to where it had been before, with his gaze fixed on the invisible ceiling. "Well, in that case... I'm glad I'm here, too."

Axel didn't respond verbally, but Roxas felt the backs of Axel's fingers brush against his own, and when the touch lingered for more than a minute, he could tell that it hadn't been by accident. He slid his own knuckles down Axel's long fingers, over his calloused fingertips, and back down toward his palm. Axel's fingers curled inward, toward Roxas', linking their hands with two hooks. Somehow, it seemed natural.

When Axel's thumb joined their fingers, stroking absently at the third knuckle on Roxas' index finger, a strange, warm buzzing flooded his chest, not unlike the pinpricks he felt in his hands or feet after he'd had them in a strange position for a long period of time, but more pleasant.

A tiny light flashed around their hands, and the warmth from Roxas' chest rushed into his face.

"What was that," asked a very amused-sounding Axel.

Roxas laughed nervously. "S-See? I..." He cleared his throat, trying to dispel whatever had just made his voice crack. "I told you it makes people feel better."

* * *

Riku pushed open the door with one arm, his eyes on the parcels stacked in the other, careful not to drop them.

"Sora, I'm back," he called, his precarious packages wobbling as he tried to close the door behind him. "I stopped by the butcher shop, too," he explained loudly, moving to the kitchen as quickly as possible before he could drop anything. "I thought you could probably stomach something a little heavier than bread, and if you can, I think you need to." He organized the packages on the table, running over the recipe in his head while he waited for Sora to join him in the kitchen.

When several seconds passed and Sora never came, that was when Riku began to worry. He quickly discarded the food he'd purchased and rushed to Sora's bedroom, only to find him completely unharmed, lying on the floor with his eyes on the ceiling.

"Sora." Riku sighed and put his hands on his hips. "What are you doing?"

The boy on the floor turned his head, his cheek pressing against the wooden planks, and offered an uncertain smile. "Thinking?"

"Thinking..." Riku couldn't help responding with a smile of his own. "Sounds dangerous for you." Again, he sighed, and he bent low to offer his hand. "You're going to make yourself sick again if you stay down there. Come on. Keep me company while I cook. And don't forget to grab your quilt."

"I saw Kairi while I was out," explained Riku as he cleaved the meat into smaller pieces, gathering it onto a pile on the packaging paper.

"Really?" asked Sora, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders from where he sat in the corner of Riku's vision. "Um, how was she?"

"She's healthy enough, but..." Riku pushed the meat into a smaller pile, organizing it. "She misses you."

Sora sighed softly, giving Riku pause. The sadness in that simple sound brought an indescribable heaviness to his heart. "Kairi..." mused the younger boy, his voice soft and lonely. Dejected. "I miss her, too. I just..." He tapped his feet against the floor. "I wish I could see her."

Riku frowned, for all the world suddenly very interested in the meal he was preparing. It was hard to forget how jealous he'd once been of Kairi. She was kind and pretty and soft-spoken, and she and Sora had always been close. When they were children, it seemed that every adult around them was so sure that Kairi and Sora would be married someday. "It's a shame," they would always say. "Such a pretty girl with a boy like that." And that would only make Riku angrier.

That protectiveness might never have left Riku, and he still needed to stifle the urge to start fights whenever people talked about Sora like that, but at least the jealousy toward Kairi had left him.

Rather, had left him for the most part. There were still moments here and there when Riku felt that same jealousy bubbling up inside of his chest.

"Sora... Do you think you could bring me the cauldron?"

"Sure," said Sora, bright and chipper as always, blissfully unaware of Riku's suppressed envy. He discarded the blanket and crossed the room to the fireplace where the pot sat upon the coals, which had yet to be lit.

Riku's hands paused, stilled by his wandering mind. "How much do you miss her?" he asked, and immediately felt ridiculous for asking.

"Kairi?" asked Sora, grunting as he grabbed the heavy pot and hoisted it out of the fireplace. "A lot," he admitted. "Every single day."

"You're not-"

"What? Crushing on her again?" Sora laughed. "No! No way. I just miss my friend." He turned around with a strained huff. "Besides, I've _kinda _got my eye on someone else."

Riku's head jerked upright. "Someone else?" That was new. Why hadn't he heard of this before? And since when was Sora able to meet somebody other than himself or Kairi? With the stigma against his mother-not to mention his brother now-people unfairly avoided Sora like the plague. Who had he been talking to enough to enough to develop feelings for? Riku racked his brain, searching desperately for any memory of Sora talking to someone other than himself, Kairi, or Roxas within the past few years, and he found nothing. There was always the possibility that Sora was infatuated with someone based on their looks alone, but...would someone as pure-hearted as Sora really be attracted to someone for reasons so shallow?

"Really?" Riku continued the conversation, doing his best to convincingly hide his alarm. "Who?"

"'Who?'" Sora laughed again. "Oh, come on, Riku! Like you don't- Ah!"

A yelp and a thud was all Riku needed to abandon one worry for another. He whipped around, wide eyed, and rushed to Sora's side. The boy was doubled over, holding onto his foot with a wince.

"Are you okay?" demanded Riku, fighting with panic and guilt.

"Yeah," said Sora with a pained hiss. "I'm fine."

"Let me see."

Sora sighed and hesitantly removed his hands from his foot, resting them on Riku's shoulders to keep himself balanced.

Riku took the injured foot in his hands and inspected it. It was definitely red, and it would most likely bruise. He tentatively prodded at the boy's toes. "Does that hurt?"

Sora yelped and instinctively tugged Riku closer. "Of course it hurts! I just dropped a huge pot on that!"

"But does it hurt like it's broken?"

"No." Sora sighed emphatically. "Riku, seriously, I'm fine. I was just clumsy. It's not like it's the first time I've dropped something on my foot."

Riku's eyes narrowed. This was his fault. If Riku hadn't been so distracted by his own foolish jealousy, he would have remembered that Sora was still recovering, that he might be too sick to carry something so heavy.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" mumbled Riku darkly.

"Blaming yourself," said Sora. "I've known you since forever, and I know that when you go all quiet like that, you're beating yourself up for something. I was swinging it around and not paying attention. I was the one who should've been more careful, not you, okay, Riku?"

Riku lifted his head hesitantly, and his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. Sora's face was remarkably close to his own. How could he not have noticed that before? The way they were standing, both hunched over, Sora using Riku to balance himself, of course they were bound to be this close. Riku swallowed hard, suddenly flustered. Sora didn't seem to notice.

"I'm glad you didn't treat me like I was made of glass for once," said the boy, smiling warmly. "It's been months since the last time you actually let me do anything on my own. Don't start hesitating just because I was dumb, okay?"

Riku nodded slowly and released Sora's foot.

The two lapsed into silence.

Sora's smile faltered for a moment, and his head twitched closer, as if he'd contemplated leaning in, but when he stood upright again, smiling the same as he always did, Riku chalked it up to his imagination. He seemed to be doing that more and more lately.

"See?" Sora said brightly, completely unaffected. "I can stand on my own two feet and everything." He released Riku's shoulders to make a point of his own independence.

Riku sighed and shook his head, his own smile returning. "Fine. But stay off of it for the rest of the day, all right? And if it still hurts tomorrow, we're taking care of it properly. Even if I have to do it myself."

"You got it!"

* * *

Roxas groaned emphatically as the light died in his hands yet again, far sooner than he'd meant for it to. He'd been trying this for days now, and he wasn't making even the slightest amount of progress.

He flopped back onto the stone floor, disappointed, and the room filled with the orange of flame as his back hit the cold surface below.

"Maybe the memories you're thinking of aren't happy enough," tried Axel.

"That's not it," said Roxas, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I've tried tons of different memories, and I know which ones make me the happiest. It's something else for sure. I just don't know what."

"Hmm..." Axel shifted, changing the position he sat in to where he became a mirror image of how Roxas had been before he'd fallen back, legs crossed, back slouched. "I just thought of something."

Roxas sat up slowly.

"Show me your hands," said Axel. "Put them the same place you put them when you're about to make a light, but don't make the attempt just yet."

Huffing quietly, Roxas held out his hands like he always did, as if he were holding an invisible ball of yarn.

Axel hummed thoughtfully. "I think I've found your problem. What your doing might work later on, when you're more experienced, but for someone who's learning, your hands are way too far apart. It needs to be focused. Try putting them together like you're taking water from a basin."

"Like...?" Roxas aligned his hands side-by-side, his pinkies flush, palms open.

"No- Here." The light from Axel's hand disappeared, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Warm hands found the back of his own, caressing gently, coaxing them to move.

"Uh..."

"Just trust me, all right?" Axel molded Roxas' hands, overlapping the fingers of one hand on top of that of the other, pulling the hands as close together as possible while still leaving an open space between them. "Try it this way. I think it'll help to pool all of your energy in one place."

"Oh," mumbled Roxas, struggling to focus on Axel's words when all of his attention seemed to want to cling to the warmth of his hands as they held his own in place.

"Give it a shot," whispered Axel, his voice low and sweet. _Milk in tea_, thought Roxas.

"O-Okay," replied the boy, surprised by his own hesitation. He was nervous, but it was a good nervous. It reminded him of when he was a child and pulled dangerous stunts because his brother dared him to. Like walking into the forest as far as he had the courage to go. Even if he always turned around after passing only three or four trees, he always felt fantastic for the rest of the day. It was a rush, every single time. It was strange how he got that same rush now, solely because Axel had touched his hands.

Roxas didn't even need to think of a happy memory; a faint blue light began to form between his hands of its own volition. It wasn't steady, but already an improvement had been made. Rather than sparking or crackling, it was simply waxing and waning, building and fading.

Maybe he could make it even steadier.

He took a deep breath, and he thought of Xion's smile. Her excitement when she told Roxas that Axel was acting like himself again for the first time in centuries.

The light grew. It still flickered to a fault, like a candle in the wind, but it was stronger than Roxas had ever seen it before.

He thought of Sora, of his warmth and compassion. He thought of what Sora would think if he knew what Roxas was doing right now, that he was happy, and he believed in the deepest depth of his heart that Sora would be happy, too, knowing that Roxas wasn't alone. That he had people in his life who truly cared about him.

The light steadied itself further. It was almost there. Almost a steady gleam. But there was still room for improvement, and Roxas was barely even breaking a sweat. He knew he could make it even better.

Roxas thought of Axel's quiet laughter, of his milky voice, of the way every inch of his skin seemed to buzz with warm electricity when they were near, especially when they were touching, exactly like they were in that moment.

The glow steadied.

For the first time ever, Roxas was actually able to hold a completely steady light in his hands. He grinned, and the pride in and of itself made the light grow. It washed over his hands and Axel's, overflowing and illuminating everything it touched. It soaked into the sleeves of their coats and crawled up their chests. It bathed Axel's face in kind, gentle blue, and Roxas could see every detail of his smiling face. Every imperfection and every ounce of perfection. He could see what he swore must have been pride of Axel's own brightening his hypnotic green eyes as he watched the ever-brightening glow.

Something hot stirred in Roxas' chest, sending a fresh buzz of electricity all of the way to the ends of his fingertips and his toes. His heart skipped a beat, and in place of that beat, the light shone brighter than Roxas ever expected, sending smoky rays outward for less than a second before returning to the translucent sphere between Roxas' hands.

This seemed to catch Axel's attention, and he lifted his head, stealing his eyes away from the ball of light to lock onto Roxas' own.

Something pulsed in Roxas' chest, and he was sure it wasn't just his heart. It was like his entire being was trying to contain a small explosion. He would have gasped, but their air suddenly seemed thick, impossible to breathe in. His heart stuttered inside of him. His head was swimming.

Perhaps it was just because of the lighting, or maybe because of the silence, or the intimacy of the situation, but Roxas couldn't help wondering...

...had Axel always been so...

...so breathtaking?

Something crackled in the corner of Roxas' vision, and he might have wondered if the light had somehow managed to escape from his hands, had he not been so focused on the contour of Axel's jaw as he turned his head.

Had it always curved like that?

Another crackle. Roxas saw it now. Two lights, floating around seemingly of their own mind, like blue fireflies.

And perhaps Roxas might have been more impressed by himself had he not been too busy wondering if Axel's green, almond-shaped eyes had always been so alluring. If his hair had always perfectly framed his face like that. If his collarbone had always been so tantalizingly prominent over the collar of his coat.

If he'd ever seen Axel smile with such sincerity. Such intensity.

With every detail that Roxas found himself picking out of Axel's visage, another glimmer of light joined its precedents. Roxas couldn't care less, but Axel... Axel seemed to be in awe of them, and that just made him all the more beautiful.

How long had these thoughts been burning in the back of Roxas' mind? Why was it that he suddenly couldn't stop thinking about them? What did it all mean?

Axel's gaze caught Roxas' again, and Roxas swallowed hard. His eyes were like tunnels, boring into Roxas' own like that. They reminded him of the way it felt to stand on the edge of a cliff and to look down over the edge, the way it seemed to make him want to jump in. Even when Axel's gaze didn't linger as much as Roxas would like, even when it dropped every so often, though never more than a few degrees south, never wandering further down than a few centimeters, Roxas still felt like he wanted to jump in.

He felt himself lean forward, and maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed, maybe, like Axel was leaning in, too.

The lights around him might have gone out, or maybe they were still there; Roxas would have never known, not when it seemed that all his eyes could see was the man in front of him. He couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears, either. If not for the fact that he'd dropped his gaze to Axel's lips in that movement, following some base instinct, and seen them move, he might never have noticed that Axel had spoken at all.

"Hey..." he whispered.

It took a moment for Roxas' buzzing brain to interpret the sound. "Hm...?" he responded, hardly able to recognize his own voice. It sounded strangely...sleepy.

The one corner of Axel's lips twitched, pulling back into a crooked smile that sent chills up Roxas' spine. "You okay, Kid?"

Kid?

Kid.

The buzzing faded, and Roxas returned to clarity. The fairy lights floating around them began to blink out one by one, like dying stars.

What was he doing? Where was his head?

And why did the word "kid" hurt so much?

_Because,_ Roxas realized suddenly, _it's what I am. Axel was probably in his mid-twenties when he got frozen in time like this, and I'm just...a kid._

Of course Axel saw him as a kid.

And that was the only way he would ever see him.

Just a little kid.

"Yeah."

The original light Roxas had made, the one in his hands, began to crackle as it died as well, too weak to sustain itself.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Without even putting up a fight, the light in Roxas' hands died entirely.

"I'm just tired, I think." Roxas took his hands back from Axel's and stood slowly, shaking his head. Axel didn't bother lighting up the room, and for that, Roxas was grateful. He really didn't want Axel to see the shame in his face. "It was too much. I just wore myself out. That's all."

"Yeah," said Axel, his skeptical voice a vice grip around Roxas' heart, draining what it had filled only moments before. "That makes sense, I guess. You made a lot of progress today."

Roxas nodded, not bothering to answer verbally, even when he realized that Axel would have no way to know that he'd nodded when he couldn't see through the darkness.

"Get some rest, Kid."

_Kid_.

"Y-Yeah... Okay." Roxas took a deep breath, one that seemed to bruise his heavy, aching chest, and carried himself sluggishly to the stairs.

Even with the threat of Xemnas to worry about, Roxas couldn't make himself move any faster, and it seemed like an eternity before he reached his room again.

Unfortunately, that gave him plenty of time to think, enough to realize exactly what had just happened. What had _been _happening since the day he arrived in that god-forsaken manor. What was likely to keep happening, no matter how much he wished it would just disappear.

Why couldn't it just disappear?

He opened the door to his bedroom slowly, and he'd lowered his hood before he'd closed it behind him.

"Roxas?"

He pressed his back to the door and slid down to the floor, burying his head in his arms.

A cool, gloved hand touched the back of his head. "Roxas, what happened?"

What was the point in answering, even if he did know the answer? And he did. He knew exactly what had happened. It took him weeks upon weeks to figure it out, but yes, he had finally figured out what had happened.

He had fallen in love.

And Axel would never, ever love him back.


End file.
